Holly Leaves
by CaptainOzone
Summary: "When I first heard about your magic, Merlin, my opinions of you did not change. They solidified, and I saw more truth to what I had observed than I ever had before." Merthian AU. Set post-5x04. Post-Reveal. Rated high T for suggestive content in final chapter. Special thank you to ErinNovelist for the book cover!
1. I Understand

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: First of all, the s5 finale? Perfection. That is all I will say about that.

Merry Christmas, all! This fic was written for a Secret Santa fic exchange over at the Heart of Camelot. It is rated high T for suggestive content in the final chapter (there are 5 total, and no, your ears do not deceive you. I have actually written and completed a whole fic BEFORE posting, and thus, this fic'll actually have a set update schedule! It's insane. If you've read my stuff, you know I don't do this. Ever. I'm rather excited about it!). I do believe, however, that chapters 1-4 could be rated K+ or low T, and chapter 4 feels like a natural end-point for a fic such as this, so please don't let that dissuade you from reading.

My choice of 'romance' as the genre is obvious, but I placed this fic under the genre 'friendship' as well because 1) I still get my angsty bromance in and 2) friendship is the basis of love, and that is really what I tried to express here with not only Mithian and Merlin but also with _all _of the other characters' relationships, family ties, and friendships—and that is, after all, what Christmas is all about.

Other warnings and stuffs to know: Post-reveal; AU; spoilers up to and including 5x04; AU of s5 from there on (dialogue spoiler - 5x07); puppet-Gwen never happened and thus Elyan is STILL ALIVE; Alator, too, lives. This was written before the season 5 finale, so this is my own s5 ending. Beware cheesiness.

Also, MASSIVE hugs and thanks to Ryne for beta'ing and for all of her help brainstorming, to LizzyGlue for sharing in "sexy times" with me while she wrote her own romance fic for this exchange, and to everyone at the Heart of Camelot who spent a lot of time in the writing channel with me over the past few weeks supporting and encouraging me with my first romance fic. :D

And with that, I give you Holly Leaves:

* * *

**I Understand**

"Mithian!" Ronan shouted, crashing and stumbling into her chambers without knocking.

The princess of Nemeth, well-accustomed to entrances such as this, hardly flinched or batted an eyelash when her brother's shout broke through her concentration—for her family had long since learned that there was very little else that they could do to get her attention when she was so absorbed in something—and after gently closing the leather-bound book she held on her lap, she looked up to see Ronan's dark eyes dancing as he beamed cheerfully down at her.

As always in his presence, Mithian found herself mirroring his smile. She had missed that grin and the eternal well of energy that Ronan carried about with him; he was not only her brother but also her dearest friend, and Nemeth really had been a dull place without him and Quinn, both of whom had recently returned home after a lengthy trip to Northumbria to renew an ancient peace treaty.

In fact, it was so ancient that most—if not all—of the original agreements had needed quite a bit of revision, and as their father had fallen ill at the time the meeting was to be held and was in no shape to travel (and as he was now of such an age that he shouldn't be riding far distances anyway), Quinn, the heir to the throne, and Ronan, who was her elder by only two years, had been sent in his stead to treat with Northumbria's leaders.

In retrospect, she was rather grateful that both princes had been away from Nemeth for so long. While the pair of them were distraught at the news of what had befallen their home and their family during their time in Northumbria and while they were angry with themselves for not being there in the kingdom's time of need, Mithian had hid budding tears and had fervently thanked the gods that they _hadn't _been in the city when Odin attacked a few months ago.

Knowing how protective her brothers were of her and their father and knowing of the damage the two could wreak when they put their heads together, Mithian could be absolutely certain that neither of them would have lived to see another day. Morgana would not have tolerated their defiance, and the princess could not see either the witch or Odin taking such dangerous prisoners.

_But no_, Mithian reminded herself, _that didn't happen and won't happen. Everything turned out for the best…_

Unconsciously, her fingertips brushed against the flesh of her wrist, and a shudder possessed her when they grazed across the unnatural ridges branded there…

"Mithian?" Ronan asked concernedly, his eyes locked on her exposed wrist and his jaw clenching tightly.

Simultaneously standing and pulling the fabric of her gown to cover the faint mark that Morgana had left on her, Mithian pushed aside her dark musings, released a little laugh, and with a smile that almost reached her eyes, she teased, "Barely home a week, and you've already fallen back into your old habits, Ronan."

Even though Ronan was no fool and even though he knew that her teasing was intended to distract him from the scar and from calling her out on her unconscious acknowledgement of the old wound, the hard edge in her brother's blazing dark eyes abated with a mixture of sympathy at her unwillingness to have him fuss over her, reluctance to comply to her wishes and let it go, and good-natured amusement at her words.

"I would have hoped that that habit of barging into others' rooms was broken in Northumbria," Mithian added, hoping that her brother would indeed _let it go_.

Releasing a chuckle, Ronan joked, "Mith, I'm offended. Truly. I doubt I could have possibly changed _that _much in a few months."

He grinned brightly when she laughed; however, unable to be deterred, her brother's smile faded almost as quickly as it appeared, and he gently took her hand.

His large fingers brushed over the scar, and a faint sweep of déjà vu washed over her. The ghost of feeling a callused, rough hand turning her wrist over…steady, strong…gentle…and a flash of stormy blue…

Merlin had been the only other one that had seen these scars, and despite Mithian's best attempts—

She could hide it from her father. She could hide it from Quinn. She could even hide it well enough from her maidservant.

But there was no way in hell she could hide it from Ronan. He knew her far too well.

"You never told me if—does it still bother you?" Ronan asked softly.

Fondly, she placed her other hand on top of their joined ones and answered with complete sincerity, "Only in that I cannot escape it. I look at it and remember."

Ronan pursed his lips and said, "I don't think it is wise to continue keeping these thoughts to yourself, Mithian."

"Ronan, not this again," Mithian entreated, pulling her hand away. "This is my choice. I couldn't live with myself if—"

Catching a shadow of now-familiar disapproval cross his face, she cut herself off and released a puff of air to blow away some rebellious hair from her eyes. Although Ronan had caught sight of the faint scar upon their reunion, had guessed its origins, and had been more enraged than Mithian had ever seen—which was all the more impressive because the prince was known throughout the land for his calm temperament, tolerance, and skillful handling of his nearly nonexistent temper—and although there had been a huge debate afterward as to whether or not she should keep the abuse she suffered a secret from the family, not even Ronan knew the full tale.

No one knew, and Mithian was stubbornly adamant about keeping it that way not only because she didn't want others to perceive her differently for it but also because it would break her father's heart and cause him pain beyond pain. In her opinion, the less they knew about what had happened to her during that time, the better.

However, Ronan, who was afraid that the mental and emotional stress of keeping the memory bottled inside would eventually wear away at his sister, obviously disagreed.

Thumbing through the worn pages of the book in her hand, Mithian said, "For now, Ronan, just leave it. Please? Didn't you need something?"

Instead of sighing in reluctant defeat, he started, and his brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

The princess stared at him for a moment. "You barged in," she reminded slowly.

"Oh…oh!" Ronan exclaimed, a smile brightening his features once more. "_That!"_

Rolling her eyes, his sister said, "Yes, _that_."

"Ah, yes, about that. Father wishes to speak with us. Now."

"Now?"

"Now as in immediately," Ronan responded with a hint of a sheepish grin.

Mithian frowned in concern, and unease pricked in her stomach. _Immediately _was a word that held heavy weight in their family. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"I dunno, but the messenger—he was an odd fellow, now that I think of it—seemed in a right rush and completely flustered when I intercepted him on the way to see what Quinn was off doing, and I thought I might as well—"

Grabbing Mithian's hand enthusiastically and keeping up a steady stream of chatter all the while, her giant of a brother gently pulled her out of her room and down the corridors to the throne room, where Rodor awaited them.

Mithian was right to worry, and her heart plummeted to the floor upon entering the throne room and seeing their father.

Because the last time she saw her father like this—blankly staring off into a far-off region of space, his face pale with astonishment and his lips unintentionally parted—he had just received news that Camelot had fallen into Morgana and Helios' hands.

However, there was something different about her father's shocked expression this time. The fear was missing, and instead, to Mithian's confusion, a strange sort of awed curiosity had taken its place.

Quinn was seated to the right of their father, and unlike Rodor, he acknowledged their presence with a completely unreadable wide-eyed stare and with a single, exhaling bark of hysterical laughter.

Delicate dark brows furrowing, Mithian turned around to Ronan, who shrugged helplessly at her, before flashing Quinn an inquiring look. "Father? Quinn? What is going on?" she asked in a low, wavering tone.

Rodor's eyes flashed to his daughter's, and upon seeing a hint of a smile twitch at his lips, Mithian's heart slowed its race in her chest.

"We have been invited to Camelot to celebrate Yule next week," Rodor began slowly in a dazed tone.

Uncontained glee at the surprise burst through Mithian, warming her heart and filling her with fond memories of the city and the friends she had come to make, but suddenly, she frowned. "Next _week_? Yule is little over a month from now. Why are we receiving such an invitation so early? Surely the Pendragons don't mean to have guests for the holidays for a whole month _beforehand_?"

"Well…" Her father kindly motioned at a figure the princess hadn't noticed upon entering the throne room to come forward.

With a swish of a cloak, the figure stepped forward from the pillar he was leaning on and grinned easily at Ronan and Mithian.

"Sir Percival!" Mithian exclaimed.

"Hello, Princess," Percival said with a hint of informality, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles politely. After holding a hand out to Ronan, the giant of a knight added, "And Prince Ronan. It is good to meet you."

"And you, Sir Percival," Ronan responded.

"It is good to see you again, sir knight," the princess said to the Camelotian. "But… I mean, what—what brings youhere to Nemeth? How fares Camelot?"

Percival's grin widened, but suddenly, he faltered and looked to her father as if to seek permission to continue. Their father exchanged a look with Quinn and said, "Go ahead, and tell them what you told us, Sir Percival, if you will."

"This is quite a miraculous tale," Quinn commented in response to the confused expressions of his younger siblings.

"More miraculous than that of the last two times the Pendragon retook his kingdom with nothing more than a servant and a handful of men?" Ronan snorted. "I hardly doubt that anything can compare to those tales."

"Even more so, Sire," Percival said quietly. "Because now…that one servant has changed everything."

"The _servant_?" Ronan asked in astonishment.

"_Merlin_," Mithian corrected immediately, "is not just any servant, Ronan. I need hardly remind you."

Upon recognizing the name, recognition dawned upon him, and respect and gratitude soon flooded his sharp brown eyes.

For Mithian had told him about Merlin. She had told him about how he _knew _things, saw things that no one did…and about how no one seemed to know or see _him _as well as they might think. Rodor held the utmost regard for the strange, intelligent young servant who rode with Arthur armor-less, who bravely held a weapon and fought without encumbering any of the knights, and who had such a strong bond with the King. She and her father both had told him about how he and Sir Gwaine had singlehandedly overcame Odin's men and how the King _listened _to him... and how his wisdom had helped prevent a war.

But…there was one thing that Mithian did not tell her brother. After all, she thought it went without being said that there was no one she knew—other than Arthur Pendragon himself, perhaps—that could match Merlin's selflessness and compassion.

However, it wasn't until she sought an audience with him the last time she was in Camelot… that she saw something even _more_ to the man who had baffled her and interested her from the very moment she had first met him.

~…~

Gritting her teeth against the burn, Mithian allowed tears to overflow for the first time since returning to Camelot, and unable to keep the haunting memories from assaulting her or the sobs from wracking her chest, she ducked into an alcove, leaned heavily against the wall, and brushed away at the tears with trembling fingers.

Once Arthur and Guinevere had left her alone with her father and Gaius, Mithian had made sure that the old physician had everything he needed and that her father was comfortable, and after she announced that she wished to make sure that everything was ready for their journey back to Nemeth, she had backed out of the room.

It was just an excuse to _get out. _To not pretend. To be alone.

Because it was impossible to control her tears when the sight of him—the only one observant enough to sense something wrong, her only hope—lying lifeless and injured on the rocks below her flashed repeatedly through her mind's eye… and when Morgana's hisses echoed in her ear…

It had been her fault that he had been so hurt, just as it had been her fault that the King had nearly been killed by Odin and Morgana.

The shadow of disappointment and pain crossing Arthur's face, the anger at the betrayal following… his shouts of rage…

Guilt crushed her.

_Enough of this, Mithian_, the princess bullied herself. _You'll never accomplish anything if you're stuck in the corridor feeling sorry for yourself. It's _over_. Morgana no longer has any hold over you. You don't have to continuously look over your shoulder and feel her eyes on you. It is _over_. Nemeth is safe, Father and Merlin are alright, Arthur and Odin made peace, and… Arthur forgave you. For everything. _

Her heaving gasps slowed and steadied as a small smile worked her way onto her lips.

It had amazed her—how easily he had smiled and how kindly he had look upon her. As a little girl, she could remember feeling nothing but dread whenever Rodor announced that they'd be making a trip to Camelot. Visiting Camelot meant that she'd have to put up with that arrogant Prince and smile and be polite and hold her tongue every time he did or said something she wanted to slap him upside the head for.

There was no longer any sign of that spoiled boy who had grated on her nerves and who had smirked and scowled at her. That Prince had transformed into an understanding, compassionate man, a great king who inspired loyalty, love, and peace and who had his heart set on ensuring nothing but the best for his kingdom…

And for his friends.

She was _lucky _to have him as a friend and to have him consider her one in turn.

A little puff of breathless laughter escaped her lips, and she ran a hand through her dark hair. It really _was_ over. Morgana was buried under a pile of rock… and she was _free_.

Removing her hand from her hair, she caught sight of the reddened and pulsing skin of her wrist, and her smile fell.

If the wound scarred, she'd never be free, and even if it didn't, she would remember.

She would always remember.

A rush of bitter anger rushed through her, and feeling nothing but indifference for the smarting burn that she _should _be tending to with more caution and care—it was enflamed with a _very _unhealthy glow—she shoved down her sleeve and pushed herself on.

Mithian's feet carried her without any direction and guidance, and within minutes, she found herself jolting to a halt directly in front of the physician's chambers. After staring blankly at the door for a moment, she felt her lips twitch into another small, sheepish smile.

Because, even if she hadn't known it the moment she stepped out of her father's guest room, even if she might want to convince herself that the pain and aggravation caused by the burn led her here to seek help from Gaius' protegee—no, if she wanted to be frank with herself, she had been in search of Merlin – the only one who had seen and the only one she would ever allow to see the marks that the witch had left on her.

One apology had been given and accepted, and she'd be damned if she didn't give Merlin the apology _he _was owed. And the gratitude he deserved.

An inexplicable flutter brushed against her insides, and without hesitation, she pushed open the door.

He was sitting at one of the workbenches, hunched over a thick, dusty volume. For a moment, Mithian hesitated and watched with building laughter and with growing interest as his lips moved as he read and as his long fingers skimmed across the thick yellowed pages before threading through his tousled raven locks, which were already so wild that it looked as though the young man had just rolled out of bed. There was something so… endearing about seeing him in this way—with that tiny furrow in his brow as he concentrated and with that sharp yet distant look in his eyes that proved that he was in a whole different world…

Mithian was jolted from her musings by a yelp, which was quickly followed by a loud thud and clinking of glass.

It took her a moment to realize that she had been caught staring and that Merlin, in his surprise, jumped so high that his knees collided with the table, and she couldn't help but giggle as he struggled to untangle his gangly limbs from the bench—he tripped and stumbled over it, causing it to crash to the floor—and leap to his feet.

"Princess?" Merlin asked breathlessly, subtly flipping the book he was reading closed.

Grinning sheepishly and amusedly, Mithian looked at the book curiously before she closed the door behind her and said, "I'm sorry I startled you, Merlin. You were so focused, and I didn't want to disrupt you."

Merlin scanned her face with an intensity that sent shivers running down her spine, but suddenly, a goofy smile spread across his elfin face. "You don't look particularly sorry," he pointed out, his eyes dancing with mischievous playfulness.

His humor was contagious, and this sunny cheerfulness, which had been absent during the duration of most of her time in his presence, radiated from him and immediately made her return his smile.

"Well, you can't blame me. It _was _pretty funny to see you wrestle with the bench," Mithian teased.

"It was a worthy opponent," Merlin defended himself without any real bite in his words.

Laughing brightly—it felt so _good _to laugh—she joked, "Judging by the state of the bench, I'd hate to see what would happen if you decided to take on a different opponent. Say the table? Or the curtains?"

"I'll have you know that curtains are the most difficult to face," Merlin smirked. "Not even the great Arthur Pendragon can defeat them."

Hysterical giggles at the ridiculousness of this conversation bubbled to her lips, and she asked, "_What_?"

The servant blinked, and Mithian could have sworn a soft blush spread across his cheeks before he chuckled, "Exactly. What _are_ we talking about?"

"You know, I'm not entirely sure," Mithian mused thoughtfully.

Merlin laughed, and a hand ran through his unruly hair again.

Upon noticing that the action revealed the purple bruise discoloring his forehead, Mithian's amusement fled, and it was replaced by a surge of disbelief and remorse.

How—how could he _joke_ with her? How could he be so—after what she had done to him, after what her actions nearly caused…?

Her fingers brushed unconsciously at her injured wrist.

Merlin, who was unaware of Mithian's gaping and dumfounded state, looked away from her and began to right the vials of various ingredients and medicines that he had knocked over, and he asked cheerily, "Well, then, since you probably didn't come here to discuss my various battles with inanimate objects, what can I do for you, Princess?"

Mithian's throat constricted, and after attempting multiple times to swallow, her fingers brushed at the injury on her wrist.

It was just at that moment that Merlin turned back to her with an expectant and curious look, but immediately, he noticed something was wrong. With his smile fading, Merlin scrunched his brow in concern, and after Mithian dropped her hands impulsively, the blue eyes zeroed in on her wrist.

The change that came over him was immense, incredible, and frankly…startling. Those blue eyes, once shimmering with amusement and friendliness, suddenly hardened into stony crystal… cold as snow and blazing with icy fire. There was a strange depth to them that made him look older than his years and more dangerous than he had any right to be.

After clenching his jaw and crossing the room in two large strides, Merlin stood centimeters from her, and without once removing his eyes from hers, he gently and carefully took her unresisting hand.

"Does anyone know about this?" he asked in a low tone.

Mithian pursed her lips and did not say a word. That seemed to be answer enough for the servant, and only after she finally tore her gaze from his did he lift her hand and gingerly push back the sleeves of her tunic to expose the burn.

Merlin's sharp inhale caused Mithian's head snap back worriedly, and after turning her wrist with movements so gentle she could hardly feel his fingers on her wrist, he exhaled heavily and said with a strange edge of anger in his voice, "You should have gotten this looked at earlier, Mithian."

It didn't go unnoticed by her that that was the first time he had dropped her title and had instead called her by her first name.

But she was unable to appreciate the significance of that. He had adopted the 'physician's-bite,' which was what she, as a child, had secretly dubbed the stern, reprimanding tone that Nemeth's own physician used whenever she discovered that the princess had hidden an injury that she received while playing with the boys or riding recklessly, and even though her physician's 'physician's-bite' had long since had any affect on her, _Merlin's, _for some reason,was another thing entirely.

"I—I couldn't," Mithian whispered. "If I asked Gaius, he would have told my father, and…"

When she trailed off, Merlin's brilliant blue eyes flickered to her face again, and after a moment, he said two simple words that were imbued with more meaning than she could possibly comprehend.

"I understand."

Stunned, Mithian floundered for words, but Merlin continued, "Sometimes, secrets must be kept to protect the ones you love the most. But…" Self-loathing was evident in his voice, and all light disappeared from his eyes. "It shouldn't have been necessary."

"What do you mean?"

Merlin's jaw twitched before he said, "I knew something wasn't right."

Mithian's heart skipped a beat and throbbed with a painful twinge, and immediately, she growled severely, "Don't you _dare _blame yourself for what happened."

"But I am to blame," Merlin muttered. "If I had been more vigilant, if I hadn't been so _blind_, I would have noticed that that was an aging spell." He released a dark bark of humorless laughter. "I _should have _known, especially since I—have dealt with such a spell before."

Under more normal circumstances, she might have noticed that he caught himself and chose his words carefully when speaking of the spell Morgana had used. Under more normal circumstances, she would have been simultaneously curious and suspicious.

But, with his blue eyes shattering under the weight of his guilt before her, that was the furthest thing from her mind.

"I could have prevented this—her hurting you and keeping you in shackles like that."

The princess bit down hard on her lip as she watched this young man lower barriers, open his heart to her, and speak openly, honestly, and so…warmly, protectively…

Because of his loyalty to his friend Guinevere and the King, Merlin had once been standoffish and nothing more than mildly polite whenever speaking to her, and despite that initial frosty introduction and despite the fact that she had horribly wronged him…

She saw the depth of his compassion, and for the first time, she _felt _just how just powerfully he valued friendship and just how much he would do for a friend. The princess had _seen _this before, of course, between him and Arthur and the knights, but never had she expected to be on the receiving end… especially when they had had such a shaky start to their relationship.

It was then that the princess realized that even though she had seen the best of Merlin—his wisdom, intelligence, loyalty, and selflessness—she had still misjudged him.

He might have the position of a servant, but his heart was nobler than any she had ever encountered.

Pressing his hand, which was still held in hers, she said in a soft tone, "I don't blame you, Merlin, so you should not blame yourself. You did more for me than I can properly thank you for."

Smiling weakly, she continued, "But I'll try anyway. _Thank you_. For trying, for being there and seeing what the others couldn't. For protecting me and my father so selflessly. And for…"

The princess gently tugged her hand away from his and reached tentatively forward, hesitating just before her fingertips could brush away the hair covering his wound. Realizing what she was doing, Mithian dropped the hand and murmured, "Does it hurt?"

Merlin, who was staring at her with wide eyes and with an awkward blush staining his cheeks, shook his head wordlessly.

Gauging his strange reaction, Mithian suddenly chuckled. "I don't suppose you get enough 'thank you's from Arthur, do you?"

Merlin scowled and snorted. "Of course I don't."

Her smile faded, and after averting her eyes, she said, "I wasn't careful enough, Merlin, and you nearly were killed because of me. I'm—I'm so sorry."

A mischievous, knowing smile twitched at Merlin's mouth, and he repeated wittily, "I don't blame you, Princess, so you should not blame yourself."

The tension between them broke, and with both of their consciences unburdened, they shared broad smiles of shared relief and forgiveness.

"Besides," Merlin teased, gesturing to himself, "I'm well and alive, and Odin's been taken care of. Nemeth and its rulers are safe, and everything turned out alright in the end."

"I heard about your part in that—the truce with Odin," Mithian said with obvious respect in her voice. "That was an…amazing thing you did. Sometimes I wonder what Arthur would do without you."

He hid a mysterious smile at the last comment, and modestly, Merlin brushed off her compliment and said, "What I find amazing is that you didn't come to me or Gaius sooner about that wrist. It doesn't look particularly pleasant."

"I—is it that bad?" she asked, looking down at it with a wrinkled nose.

"It is infected, but I can make a balm that can reduce the pain and help the healing process along," he suggested. A thought occurred to him, and his eagerness faded from his face as he said sheepishly, "Unless you'd _prefer_ Gaius to—?"

"No," Mithian said quickly. "I trust you."

"Mithian…" he lowered his gaze and pursed his lips. He struggled with the words for a moment before he gave up and said bluntly, "It will scar."

Closing her eyes, she nodded and said with surprising strength in her voice, "I know."

When she opened her eyes again, there was something unreadable in his expression, and he muttered under his breath, "Morgana will be brought to justice for what she has done."

"You say that with a large amount of confidence," Mithian said shrewdly.

"I'll make you enough to last you," Merlin said, avoiding the comment, turning to Gaius' worktables and beginning to shuffle through ingredients.

"Thank you, Merlin. Do you mind if I…?"

The subsequent smirk he threw over his shoulder at her was enough to make Mithian quite sure that he was seconds away from releasing a snarky joke, and she quickly took a seat before he could say a word.

And she watched him work, his hands far more graceful than she could have believed.

~…~

"Merlin is the reason that Arthur decided to call together his allies and friends," Percival was saying.

"What do you mean?" Ronan asked.

"The rumors, Ronan," Rodor said, "that have filtered into Nemeth the past few days—they were true… in part."

Mithian's hand flew to her mouth. Of course she had heard the rumors, but in the end, she had dismissed them, knowing that the most ridiculous rumors often flew through Nemeth and knowing Camelot couldn't be as unlucky—and, frankly, as _stupid_—to fall prey to the witch for a _third _time. She had thought—she had assumed…

"Camelot fell," she breathed.

Jerking a nod, Percival crossed his arms and said, "It began the same way. Morgana taking over, a traitor inside the castle—"

Percival's pale eyes lowered, and pursing his lips, he continued with a pained tone, "It was one of our own. Sir Mordred. He and Morgana combined their powers, and not only that, but they also had an army of rogue sorcerers and a whole manner of magical beasts—even a _dragon_—on their side. It seemed as though…the battle was lost before it had even begun. We had to flee with the people before she and her traitor killed us all."

"How—what _happened_?"

"What happened?" Percival repeated with a chuckle. "_Merlin _happened. He alone shifted the entire outcome of the battle, and…because of him, King Arthur and his Queen are calling together all in the Five Kingdoms to the announcement ceremony, signing, and celebration before Yule."

"Sir Percival, I'm still not sure I—"

Taking a deep breath and grinning, Percival finally said, "This army was of magic—and of a caliber that not even the greatest army could dare to face with sword and sinew alone. What else was there but magic itself to help us achieve victory?"

Her heart stopped, and swaying on her feet in disbelief and shock, Mithian mouthed, "Merlin..."

_Sometimes,_ his voice echoed in her mind,_ secrets must be kept to protect the ones you love the most._

His blue eyes, glistening seas of kindness, cheerfulness, loyalty, intelligence, and humor—often offset by an alien darkness, ancient depth, and sadness—flashed before her.

_I understand_.

He had magic…and had been keeping it a secret for a long time.

She didn't feel betrayed or angry. She didn't feel afraid of the magic he possessed or of him for possessing said magic. She didn't necessarily understand how or why, but she didn't feel that was too important just now.

All that she could feel in that one moment was awe, compassion, and sympathy because….

Despite the friends surrounding him, he must have been so lonely, so afraid.

Seconds after Mithian reached this conclusion, Percival said proudly, "Merlin Emrys is going to be officially appointed Court Sorcerer to Camelot, and Arthur intends to speak about his decision to lift the ban on magic with all of his allies."

For the next hour, Mithian listened to the full story of the battle. Storm clouds, earth-shattering roars of the two dragons, blood soaking the ground, an army of Morgana's evil magicians fighting the allies of Emrys—Percival recalled with amusement the look of surprise on Arthur's face when the new group of magical people began to fight _for_ them—the sky alight with flashing swords and spells…

As Percival concluded his story with the horror of seeing Arthur mortally wounded and with the wonder of seeing Merlin shedding his disguise in his exhaustion after defeating Mordred and Morgana and after saving his King's life in front of the entire army, a tear slid down Mithian's cheek, and her fingers fluttered across her scar.

* * *

AN: I hope you guys've enjoyed that! The next chapter'll be posted tomorrow!

Hugs and Christmas wishes to you all. To those who don't celebrate Christmas, happy holidays to you!

HG readers - a new chapter (minichapter?) is underway. I apologize that I've been horrible about updating.

Oz out.


	2. The Friend He Was For Me

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: As promised, here is the next chapter! :D To those who have read my Prophesized series and/or Only Friend: have any of you ever heard me say multiple times that I'd never ever write another Arthur speech again? Yeah, I lied. ;D

I hope you enjoy!

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**The Friend He Was For Me**

In the past, the first sighting of Camelot's beautiful towers and walls used to bring nothing but dread to Mithian. When she was young, her family rarely went to Camelot, but that was enough for her to remember disliking Uther and his son and scowling every time she heard the great city's name. As she grew older and as she returned to Camelot years later to discover that Arthur had _grown up _and was genuinely a likeable man and a good king_, _she began to overcome past grievances and see the city for what it was.

Mithian _loved_ Camelot.

She loved how the castle bustled and how the weather was never _too_ cold for people to venture from their homes. She loved the smells of the Lower Town and the way the people moved throughout the streets. She loved the forests and their changing leaves, which were so different from the cold, indifferent, eternally jade pine forests of Nemeth, surrounding the castle. The essence, the colors—though much dulled by winter—the birdsong, even the wind…

It was impossible to compare Camelot and Nemeth, which had temperatures so frigid that it seemed to suck the life out of everyone and everything.

Camelot, on the other hand, was _alive_.

But, even more than that, what she had begun to love more than anything about Camelot were the friends she had within its walls.

During their betrothal, the princess and Arthur had quickly become close. Despite how it had ended, their respect for each other grew, and the friendship that budded during that time was something she held close to her heart. Arthur's knights—the commoners who he had honored after Morgana's first overthrow of Camelot—were wonderful, and they each had their own qualities, from Gwaine's silliness to Percival's quiet wit, that made her adore each and every one of them.

And the last time she visited, she finally met the blacksmith's daughter, the woman Arthur loved and would risk so much for, and even though Mithian had no hard feelings, she had been a little apprehensive. Of course, she had _no _reason to be. Guinevere had been nothing but kind to her since the day she came to Camelot with a disguised Morgana.

However, it wasn't until later that she and Guinevere truly bonded over one exchanged look of exasperation and fond amusement when Arthur and Merlin, who had been bickering the entire journey back to Camelot from the tomb, began teasing each other again after Gwen embraced each one of them in her relief that they had made it home safely.

After that, they talked and laughed as though they had been companions for years.

And then there was Merlin. Sweet, understanding, courageous, clumsy Merlin, who defeated physician benches and armies of magical creatures alike...

"Mithian?" Ronan asked, looking around back at her. "Are you alright?"

Snapping out of her musing, Mithian murmured, "Hm?"

"He's trying to say that you've been abnormally quiet today," Rodor explained. "Is something troubling you?"

From her peripheral vision, she saw Percival stiffen.

The knight had stayed in Nemeth until they were prepared to depart for Camelot and had filled them in on the general details of the law that the King was overriding and on what would take place in Camelot (it mostly involved tedious meetings and speeches and a series of feasts celebrating the first meeting of Druidic and non-magical leaders since the Purge as well as Yule, for those who wished to remain in Camelot after the discussions), and he was silent as he looked at her curiously… and almost defensively.

Mithian, knowing how hard it must have been for him and the other knights who personally traveled to the other kingdoms and tell this story in the fear that the news might not be well-received, gave the knight a reassuring smile.

"Of course not, Father," she answered. "I'm just enjoying the view."

It was no secret to her father or brothers how passionate she was about nature and outdoor activities. Growing up, the princess hadn't exactly been the most frilly and formal girl, and instead of embroidering all day or attending lessons in silly things like dining etiquette with the other daughters of Nemeth's court members, she slipped away to go riding, frog-hunting, crossbow andlongbow training, fishing, swimming, or racing and tree-climbing with her brothers and the other boys. Many a night, Rodor would catch her wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, sleeping on her balcony, where she often snuck out to stargaze.

It was a good excuse, but it was only half-true, so of course, Ronan caught the lie.

"Are you sure about that?" Ronan teased. "Your eyes were misted over, and you looked as though you were in the land of dreams."

"And we wouldn't want you falling of your horse because you were daydreaming, now would we?" Quinn added.

Mithian scowled. "You know I'm a better rider than the lot of you put together."

They laughed, but they didn't deny it.

"Look!" Mithian suddenly breathed as the castle's towers became visible over the crest. From their height, she could see the colors of Caerleon entering the city, followed closely by the banners of King Olaf and the Lord Godwyn.

"It's good to see that some of them are willing to give him a chance," Percival said from beside her, a bitter smile spreading across his face. "But I still wonder how many of them denied their vows and broke our treaties. A lot of them were founded on a mutual hatred of magic."

The royals from Nemeth were silent, and Percival, obviously eager to get back to his king to see how things were going, dug his heels into his horse, which snorted at him before doing as it was asked.

"Not as many people are as averse to magic as you might believe," Mithian said when they followed the knight.

"Aye," Rodor added. "Some of us remember what it was like before the Purge and before those with magic began to abuse their gifts and dabble in Dark magic."

After Percival nodded thoughtfully, but non-committedly, Mithian admitted quietly to him, "I never was touched by Uther's paranoia and hatred, Percival… not even after Morgana's attack on our kingdom."

"Really?" Percival asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"I found some Druidic books in the library when I was stuck inside one winter as a little girl, and—"

"I remember catching you at it!" Ronan remembered.

"It was nothing magical, per se," Mithian explained, ignoring the interruption. "Uther would have had those under lock and key in a heartbeat, if that was the case. No, the Druids wrote some of the most _wonderful_ bestiaries and studies about various plants… whose origins we don't acknowledge and whose knowledge we hypocritically use for our own benefits. Despite the lack of magic in the books I read, they taught me from a young age that—if the Druids were _good_ enough to try so hard to discover various uses of herbs that could save lives… their magic couldn't possibly be wholly evil."

Shame darkened Percival's face, and he whispered, "I regret that I was never like you, Princess. I wish I had come to that conclusion—" a smirk worked onto his face "—without Merlin forcing our eyes open, that is."

"No," Mithian denied, looking up at the approaching walls. "He… and Arthur have forced everyone's eyes open. They have proven something to us all."

Ronan nodded in agreement and added, "And that is why we're here."

~…~

Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, Gaius, and the knights who returned from their respective missions to other allies' homes were greeting Elena and her father when they entered the courtyard. She briefly scanned over Arthur and his queen and then followed their proud gazes over to where Merlin was speaking with Lord Godwin.

Paired with his ever-present neckerchief of scarlet, he wore a sapphire blue cloak that spilled over his shoulders, and even from this distance, Mithian could tell that what he wore underneath the cloak was of a much finer make than anything she had seen him in previously. However, despite the smartness of his attire and its purpose to make him appear confident, it was obvious to her that he was hiding discomfort and shyness behind his disarming smile, and it made amusement rise in her to see that, despite the new finery of his clothes, his hair was unruly as ever.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one to notice how ill at ease he looked. "Damn," Percival said sympathetically. "I can't imagine how he must be feeling right now."

After they dismounted, servants and stable-hands came directly to their sides, taking their horses and unlatching their belongings to take them to their pre-assigned guest chambers.

With a nod, Percival excused himself and vaulted up the stairs to his fellow knights, who grinned at him and clapped his shoulder. Gwaine and Leon peeked over Percival's head to give them welcoming smiles, which Mithian returned.

She and her family mounted the stairs less vigorously than Percival had, and upon nearing the Camelotian royals and their warlock, she heard old Godwyn saying, "Sir Elyan tells us that you were born with magic, Merlin Emrys."

"Just Merlin, my Lord," Merlin corrected courteously as fingers played about the edge of his velvet cloak. For some reason, he shot Arthur a glare before continuing, "And yes, Elyan did not lie."

"Uther Pendragon would have never believed such a thing was possible. It's inconceivable," Godwyn commented, making Arthur's nostrils flare and Merlin stiffen. "Is it a rare occurrence, being born with magic?" he asked with genuine interest. "Elyan thought it wrong to speak about it without your consent."

A fond smile twitched at his lips at the mention of Elyan's thoughtfulness, but with a flash of something akin to anxiousness in his eyes, the smile faded, and he responded simply, "Yes, it is rare."

"…_Fascinating_."

When Merlin couldn't contain a flinch and when Arthur placed his hand on the warlock's shoulder in reassurance, Elena nudged her father from behind, and the lord, catching the hint, said cheerfully, "I should take up no more of your time. I look forward to hearing more from you both at the feast tonight, Sire and Merlin." Bowing his head to Guinevere, he added, "My Lady."

"Thank you, Sire," Elena curtsied. "And Merlin, I am grateful to you for your sacrifice and loyalty to our king."

When the pair departed, following the servant who would direct them to their chambers, Mithian heard Merlin, after taking a few seconds to recover from his shock at Elena's expression of gratitude, whisper edgily to Arthur, "I still can't believe you made me do this."

Rolling his eyes, the King teased, "Is all this recognition tiring the poor warlock?"

"_Yes_," Merlin hissed. "They're goggling at me like I'm some exotic creature. At least Annis made a joke out of it by admitting that I wasn't a complete fool."

Arthur smirked. "That's debatable. I still can't believe you promised to show her some magic."

"Arthur," Gwen warned, nodding her head to Mithian, who had hung back with her family members where they were waiting politely to be acknowledged by their King so that it did not appear as though she was eavesdropping.

Sighing, Arthur said encouragingly, "We knew it wasn't going to be easy. They'll all come 'round, and all of this—it'll be worth it in the end."

After the King looked up at them and replaced his concerned frown with a genuine, welcoming smile, Mithian and her family took that as their cue to approach.

Merlin's cobalt blue eyes froze on Mithian, and for a single heartbeat, their eyes were locked before he tore his gaze away.

"King Rodor, Princes Quinn and Ronan, and Princess Mithian, you are most welcome," Arthur said.

Arthur grasped the forearm of each man in turn, and her father said in a friendly tone, "Long time, no see, Pendragon."

"Likewise," Arthur said, taking Mithian's hand to kiss her chilled knuckles.

Mithian snorted dryly, and Rodor asked, "Are we the last ones to arrive?"

"We have one last guest who will be coming later, but otherwise, I believe so," Arthur said with a grin directed at Merlin, who immediately exhaled subtly in relief.

Observant as ever, her father stated in amusement, "Someone looks relieved."

Biting his lip, Merlin floundered for words to apologize for his rudeness, but Rodor just chuckled and offered a hand. After shaking, her father said, "No need to apologize, Merlin. I expect this is overwhelming for you."

Merlin blinked and muttered, "You have no idea." Grinning weakly and relaxing considerably at the _normality _of the conversation and lack of suspicion or fascination in her father's eyes, he joked, "It's surreal, really. I'm half-expecting to wake up and find myself in the dungeons."

"Merlin…" Gwen and Gaius said simultaneously in pained tones.

Ignoring the queen and physician, Merlin continued with a sheepish grin and with a gesture around him, "In all my life, I really never expected anything like this."

Smiling, Rodor said, "Neither did we, but I'm glad you are getting the praise and recognition you deserve. But… more than that—after what I heard from Sir Percival, I don't doubt that there will be interesting times ahead for the future of this land, and I have every faith that you and Arthur are the right men to face them."

Touched, Merlin croaked, "Thank you, Sire."

"I do believe I should be thanking _you_ personally." His eyes danced. "No ordinary earthquake, was it?"

Merlin flushed and grinned brightly. "No, it wasn't."

Rodor laughed, waved his sons forward, and said, "My Lady, Merlin, I don't believe you have met my sons. This is Quinn, my eldest, and Ronan, my second-born. They were in Northumbria when Nemeth was under attack by Odin and Morgana."

Her brothers, with curiosity shining in their eyes, greeted both Queen and warlock properly.

After they had their turn, Mithian embraced Gwen, and finally, she faced Merlin and said, "Hello, Merlin."

"Mithian," he breathed with a small smile. "It's good to see you."

"Let me just say: I'm so _happy _for you, Merlin," Mithian began. "Secrets might be meant to protect those we love—" as expected, his awkwardness began to disappear when he recognized the words he had spoken a few months ago "—but I think in your case, it might be easier to protect those you love now that they _know_ your secret."

Eyes dancing with mirth, Merlin said in a mock-whisper, "Maybe so, but even after all the trouble I went through to keep the prat alive when he _didn't _know of my magic, I don't doubt he'll manage to find a way to make things difficult now that he _does_ know about it."

As Gaius, Gwen, and the knights in earshot chortled, Mithian scanned his face, taking in every last angle of his face and every change in his eyes—eyes that could shift from blue to gold and back again without a single thought…

"You haven't changed a bit, have you?" Mithian asked with an intense look in her eyes that contradicted her teasing tone.

Because standing before her wasn't the man Lord Godwyn saw—the savior of Camelot, the hero who turned the tide of the battle, the sorcerer who proved to a Pendragon that magic was a force for good and who changed said Pendragon's entire mentality by revealing who he was and saving his life—saving his _kingdom—_in the same moment…

No, this was _Merlin_. All of him. He might be a powerful warlock who could command a dragon and inspire loyalty in hundreds of magic-users, but he was still Arthur's gangly, goofy, and wise servant, whose morality and compassion, whose wisdom and sense of humor, and whose loyalty and friendship had immediately had her admiration.

She saw how much the question affected him. Deep in those pools of enchanting, kaleidoscopic blue, she saw the pain of his past, the hopefulness of his future, and the uncertainty of his present, in which he was obviously torn between joy and uneasiness at the prospect of being recognized for his gifts so openly and freely.

"I am who I am," Merlin responded with a hint of a grin. "I am who I was, and I am who I will always be. What other answer is there…when I am magic and magic is me? Nothing has changed… but others' perception of me."

Her heart panged, and after struggling for words for a moment, she finally said, "You always surprise me, Merlin."

The smirk playing about the edges of his lips grew, but before he could respond to her, his eyes caught sight of something over her shoulder and widened to the size of saucers.

Curiously, she followed his gaze to see a single woman was standing in the courtyard. She was wrapped in a shawl of modest wool to ward off the bitter wind, which made her dusty, gray-streaked brunette tresses escape her pale green headscarf and whip about her round, warm face. She made no move to tame the rebellious locks. Instead, she stared up at the group with tears streaking down her high set of cheekbones, her blue eyes dancing with a deep happiness, the like of which Mithian had never seen before.

"_Mother_…" Merlin whispered. Rounding on Arthur, he gaped and stammered with joy and amazement, "You—but—how did—?"

The King just smirked smugly, and Gwen, who had a similar smile on her face, took her husband's hand and leaned against his arm.

Without taking his eyes off of the woman waiting, Merlin realized he wasn't going to get an answer from either of his friends and demanded, "Did you know about this, Gaius?"

"For as intelligent as you are, Merlin, you sure can be daft," the elderly physician teased, causing quite a few of the scarlet-cloaked men to choke on laughter.

Rolling his eyes at them all, he took an eager step forward, caught himself, and apologized quickly, "I'm sorry, Sires, Princess, but if you'll excuse me—"

Rodor clapped Merlin on the shoulder and said, "We look forward to the feast tonight. I'm sure we will talk more there."

Her father and brothers turned to go, but Mithian, damning propriety, lagged behind to hug Arthur, who she knew was lucky and grateful to be alive and with them today, and whisper, "I'm so glad to see you well, Arthur."

After releasing the King, she turned to catch Merlin before he ran off.

The warlock stiffened in surprise, but soon, his body released its tension and melded softly into her embrace.

"Thank you, Mithian," he said into her hair.

"What for?"

"For being one of the few who understand."

With that, he pulled away, smiled, and flew down the stairs to his mother, who embraced him with such a passion that it almost brought tears to the princess' eyes.

When she turned back to her family, she noticed Quinn and her father chatting with the maid who'd direct them to their rooms, but Ronan was waiting for her, watching her, his arms crossed and a strange look on his face as he bit his tongue.

Despite herself, Mithian blushed, and before he said anything, she snapped, "Shut up."

~…~

"You look lovely, Mith," Ronan said, leaning against the doorframe as she struggled with a heel.

The princess was dressed in a deep forest-green silk gown that hugged her curves and that had what the ladies in her court called 'a sweetheart neckline.' The skirt of the dress flared mildly and modestly at the waist, but despite the fact that the dress was nothing entirely unique and special, what had caught Mithian's attention—the reason she purchased the dress at all—was the unique duality of dark green lace and silk that made up the sleeves.

"I'd still prefer to be in boots and leggings," Mithian grumbled. Holding up her heel and shaking it, she said, "Do you know how _horrible _these things are?"

Ronan shrugged. "I still don't see why you don't wear your boots. The gown's long enough to cover them."

"D'you realize how many important people are here? And how important this _moment_ is? That we're coming together with the Druid leaders after nearly three decades of misunderstanding and terror? I should be the proper princess tonight."

"I don't think anyone cares if you wear boots or not. You usually do, anyway, because _you _don't care if they care or not. Anyway, do you _want _to break an ankle with those things?"

Mithian pursed her lips and sighed. "I saw the musicians, Ronan, and when you combine a few drinks with overwrought, stressed nobles who _aren't_ the ones hosting such a massive feast and with a Pendragon who wants nothing more than to relax tensions and keep the peace, d'you know what happens?"

Her brother stared at her before breaking out into guffaws that made tears build up in his eyes. "Are you saying that—?"

"As far as anyone knows," Mithian said over him sternly, "I hurt my ankle riding, and my inability to walk well in heels with just help with the ruse."

"Weren't you the one who was _just _bragging about her riding abilities?"

"Ronan!"

Chuckling, her brother held up his hands. "Fine, if you really are willing to sacrifice your pride so that you don't have to _dance_… I'll play along."

"_Thank _you," Mithian said exasperatedly.

"You know I don't think it'll ever cease amusing me that, for as athletic and graceful as you are, you cannot dance."

Grumbling under her breath about impossible brothers, she finally wrestled on her shoes and wobbled to her feet. "Let's go, Ronan. Quinn and Father must be waiting for us."

"Is that your rush?" Ronan asked, quirking a brow. "Or is that you're just anxious to see Merlin again?"

"Of course I am," Mithian scoffed, missing the hint in his words and closing the chamber door behind her as they walked into the corridor. "He and Arthur will probably have interesting things to say about—"

"There's more to it than that. You like him."

"He was there for me when I was lost and alone with no one but Morgana for company, and now he's surrounded by people who'll be a little hostile towards him for his powers or so reverent that he'll feel he's not _Merlin_ anymore. Arthur, Gwen, Gauis, the knights… they can keep him grounded, but they are family to him. Family is biased, Ronan. And can you imagine how it must be… to sit there and pretend like you're alright with the fact that a secret you've had to keep since _birth _is being evaluated from all sides and with the fact that the innate fear that kept you alive all your life—and that kept your secret safe—is still in your heart? Because I can't imagine that. I don't know how he's even tolerating it right now…because I don't think I would be able to."

Taking a deep breath, Mithian finished, "He's a good friend, Ronan, so yes, you are right. I do like him, and I want to be the friend for him that he was—and is—for me… because I don't see these next weeks being easy for him."

Ronan regarded her for a moment, an unreadable gleam in his eye, before he shrugged and said with a mysterious little smile that grated on her nerves, "Alright, Mith. I see."

As they were nearing the council chambers in which they would be dining that night, guests and residential nobles of Camelot alike began to surround them, and everywhere she turned, the Princess of Nemeth heard Merlin's name.

"The Druids call him _Emrys_…"

"…insane… all of this. He's a _serving _boy… why would…?"

"…saved my boy's life during the battle…"

"Uther would be turning in his _grave_…"

"…before the Purge…"

"The witch Morgana…"

"…is _dead_ because of him…"

"…how can you be sure he won't turn like _she_ did?"

"He _stopped _her, didn't he? The King was _dying _when…"

"…the King trusts him…"

"He's _dangerous_…the power he has is inhuman…"

"Remember when the Witchfinder…?"

Mithian gritted her teeth against the fragments of opinions surrounding her, and after slipping into the chambers, she was grateful to see that her father and Quinn were already seated next to Queen Annis, and as she slipped into her own seat, she looked towards the table at the front of the room, where Arthur sat with Guinevere on his left and Merlin on his right. Along the table, Mithian also saw several of Arthur's most loyal and true Knights of the Round Table, as well as Gaius and Merlin's mother.

Sitting on Merlin's other side, however, were two men she did not recognize, one with curly gray hair and the other bald.

"That is Iseldir," Rodor said when she asked. "He's the chieftain of the Druids, and the other sitting next to him is Alator of the Catha. They were an integral part of Camelot's victory at the battle of Camlann."

It took a few minutes for everyone to settle in, and when the hall had silenced, King Arthur stood.

"I want to thank each and every one of you for coming," he began. "It means more than you know to see so many of Camelot's greatest allies and most cherished friends here to give us—to give this new and somewhat mind-baffling and world-altering—" muffled laughter echoed through the hall "—idea and mentality a chance.

"It takes a lot to overcome the prejudice that was born of decades of fire, axes, and fear, and it takes even more… to acknowledge that we were wrong and to see things through a different perspective. It took me nearly losing my life, my kingdom… to see.

"When my father began the Purge nearly three decades ago and banished the sorceress Nimueh from court, it was public opinion that he did it to rid the world of dark magic. In theory, it is a noble goal, but in reality? My father's Purge was no romantic and heroic endeavor to free our land of evil. At first, it might have been just that, but when that goal was fueled by grief, revenge, and then paranoia, it became nothing more and nothing less than genocide.

"And because of the mentality of my father – and of my own self during the first years of my reign – it is easy to see why there has been such a large mistrust of magic in our lives, and why it was so easy to deny there ever being such a thing as 'good' magic when our wrongs and misunderstandings turned them against us and when we, in turn, further hardened our hearts against them.

"It is a vicious cycle that must be broken or else we will destroy ourselves. Nothing can prove that fact more than the events that occurred at the battle of Camlann, where magic and sword clashed for what had seemed to be the final time. At Camlann, the future of Albion, our very livelihoods, was hanging by a thread. It could have fallen to destruction when we lost to Morgana, or it could have survived when we won, and it is only thanks to the loyalty of my manser—"

Cutting himself off, Arthur faltered and looked completely unbalanced, but after a moment, he regained his thoughts, chuckled, and said, "Well, that's awkward. Merlin, stand up, if you will."

Merlin, looking up at his master with a mixture of amusement, exasperation, and discomfort, hesitated for a moment as whispers sounded around him before following orders.

"Even before this battle, even before I was King, I had seen enough to know that the Druids were a peaceful people and that their magic and ways were not as evil as my father suggested," Arthur said. "However, it wasn't until Merlin, commanding the Great Dragon and leading an army of Druids and Catha under the guise of the old man Emrys, altered the course of the battle that I opened my eyes and saw.

"Magic is not something to be feared or hated. It is only as good or bad as the one who wields it, and I thank Merlin, Iseldir, Alator, and all those sorcerers who braved the enemy's army and Camelot's hatred to fight with us and defeat Morgana and Mordred."

There were loud cheers from _everyone_, no matter how stuffy or suspicious,at this point, and Arthur had to stop talking until the noise died away.

When there was silence again, Arthur continued, "And I thank Merlin for saving my life during the battle…and I am grateful for every other time he sacrificed and risked his own life for me, my knights, my queen, our people, and Camelot in the past.

"While we might not have known it, magic has been fighting at our sides for a decade, and having come to see what exactly Merlin had done with his gifts during my father's reign and my own, I know what it is I fight against now.

"I fight against injustice and against the _abuse _of magic. Now that I know the truth about Merlin and about magic's part in our world and its part in preventing our lands' destruction—" a smirk grew on his face "—and after realizing that both my father and I could be considered hypocrites for harboring a sorcerer and for depending on his help unwittingly, I henceforth lift the ban on magic with the promise that any magic practitioner will be judged as his non-magical fellow would be, and I reinstate the position of Court Sorcerer in my court and hand the position to Merlin, my most trusted and loyal friend, my brother, to help me overcome any magical problems our kingdom may face."

There was a mixture of polite and enthusiastic applause from the gathered guests, and Mithian saw Merlin's eyes close for the briefest second before they flew open to meet Arthur's.

The King held out his hand to the warlock, and after Merlin met it half way, Arthur pulled him into a brief embrace.

After releasing his friend, Arthur announced, "Over the next few weeks, I hope to finalize our plans about lifting the ban on magic, and I hope to hear your opinions about what the new laws should and should not contain and how it affects your kingdoms in turn.

"In the meantime, however, we can put aside all concerns and politics. Before we feast in celebration of our victory, I would like to pay my respects to the brave fighters, soldiers, knights, sorcerers, and Druids who fell during the battle. They died heroes, and may their souls find peace. Merlin? Will you do the honors?"

The warlock took a deep breath, and raising his arm, his eyes flashed gold.

Gasps resounded throughout the room, and several flinched away.

Mithian, however, felt her mouth drop open.

The flames from the candles edging the room flew and danced to conglomerate into a single ball of fire above their heads; then, swirling, twirling, contorting, the flames morphed into the fiery image of a dragon—the dragon of the Pendragon crest.

Mithian was the first to stand and bow her head in remembrance, and others followed her lead.

Merlin's eyes gleamed in the firelight, and he said in a quiet voice that was imbued with sympathy and passion, "Their sacrifice will never be forgotten."

~…~

As expected, most of the nobles loosened up after filling their bellies with food and drink, and even though this also loosened their tongues and in many cases made them rather rude, from what she could see, Merlin was courteous and kind to them all and answered any questions that they had for him. There were others, however, that seemed most genuine when talking to him—Annis and her father being two such people in particular.

Later in the night, Mithian had actually overheard him telling Arthur that he was surprised that not a single one of them had lashed out at him yet, which was a statement that made his mother, who she had learned was named Hunith, smack his arm.

But, as expected, the longer anyone talked to Merlin – whose humor and kindness was enough to batter the defenses of even the strongest skeptics – the more they began to smile and the more she saw people relaxing in his presence; and the longer they drank, the less they cared about Merlin at all.

And, as expected, the dancing and drunken shenanigans were inevitable.

Even Gwen and Arthur, after some coaxing from Leon and Gwaine, were pulled out onto the dance floor, and as Mithian surveyed the room of mingling nobles of different kingdoms and heard more laughter than she did music, it seemed, she could not deny that Arthur was a clever strategist both on and off the battlefield.

"I'm going to have to drag your brother away from Sir Gwaine sometime soon," her father said beside her.

Mithian stretched her neck to see over the heads of the dancing folk and smirked when she saw Ronan and Gwaine's arms wrapped over each other's shoulders, teetering drunkenly, and singing rowdy tavern songs in _very _off-key voices.

"Not being particularly good influences on each other, are they?" Mithian commented amusedly.

Rodor harrumphed a laugh, but he made no move to get up. Instead he looked at her, started in mock-surprise, and teased, "Why are you still sitting here with an old man like me? Several dashing young men came and asked you to dance."

With surprising speed and grace, he leapt to his feet and pulled her up with him. Before she could protest, he spun her in a twirl, chuckled when she stumbled in her surprise, and said encouragingly, "Go on, Mithian. You don't have to wait up for me. Quinn was looking for an early night, and most of the others are retiring. Annis is departing herself."

The princess watched Annis' path as she said her 'good nights' to Arthur, Guinevere, who was exchanging a mildly concerned look with her husband. Noticing that Merlin was not standing with them, Mithian frowned, and her gaze skimmed over the faces in the crowded room.

He was sitting alone, out of the King and Queen's line of vision, and even though his features were half-concealed by shadows, there was no mistaking the glimmering amusement in his eyes as he watched the dancers and drunken knights.

Stooping down to kiss her father, she whispered, "Sleep well, then, Father."

Already, Quinn had caught their father's eye and was making his way over to them, and Rodor repeated her words and added jokingly, "Try to keep Ronan out of trouble, eh, Mithian?"

"No promises."

Once her father, who had quite a bit to drink during the night himself and who looked ready to collapse into bed, was safely in her brother's capable care, Mithian brushed her hair off her shoulder and made her way to Merlin.

He noticed her approaching instantly and quirked a brow. His cloak was resting beside him, and she couldn't help but take a moment to admire those shoulders…and the curve of his collarbone…

"Princess? Why aren't you dancing?"

Mithian eyed the goblet that he clenched in his hand and took a seat beside him. "I twisted my ankle a few days ago," she lied.

A mischievous smile twitched at his lips, and after downing the last of his drink, he said observantly and clearly, his words completely unhindered by alcohol, "You aren't limping."

"And _you're _hiding in the back of the room," she retorted.

His grin only widened. "Trying to avoid dancing, Princess? I saw you turn away several fine knights and lords."

Without answering, Mithian shot back, "What's your excuse, magic boy?"

Merlin's black eyebrows rose so high they disappeared under his hair. "_What _did you just call me?" he laughed.

Hiding a blush, she said without hesitation, "You heard me."

Crossing his arms across his chest and leaning back, he said, "Mithian, I trip over every other crack in the castle. Of course I can't possibly dance, and I'm trying to avoid Gwen because she'll insist I join them. She means well, but she thinks that me being alone… isn't a good thing. Worse than me trampling her toes and tearing her dress, apparently."

Softly, she said, "She was looking for you, just now, you know. Arthur, too."

Wincing and swallowing thickly, Merlin looked away, and he whispered, "They—they don't want me to feel alone anymore."

"Because you're _not _alone anymore."

"And that's exactly it… I'm _used _to being alone. I'm _used _to hiding in the shadows… I have all my life. It is a strange feeling to have the world know, and all this? It is too much." He laughed weakly and gestured to the hall. "And for _me_? A peasant from Ealdor?"

"Your modesty does you credit, Merlin, but there's no one I know who deserves this moment more than you do." Mithian felt her stomach somersault as his face reddened, and she teased, "And yet here you are, sitting in the corner."

Merlin's cobalt-grey eyes flashed to her and then flickered to his knees, and Mithian studied him for a moment and saw the signs of stress and exhaustion about his eyes. "I can understand that after what you've been through, some solitude might do you good… but I also think that you should remember that this is _your _moment. Embrace it."

To her interest and joy, a sliver of glimmering gold coursed through his eyes—it was absolutely _gorgeous_, she realized—and tiny beads of light began to weave through his restless fingers as he considered her statement.

But… what was most gorgeous about what was happening before her was that he was being himself—completely himself—and was acting on impulse, without thinking about the consequences. It was an impulse that she could imagine he had suppressed for most of his life.

He threaded the light through his fingers, and after he sighed and looked up to her again, he suddenly realized what he was doing.

It pained her to see him cease using his magic so abruptly when he caught her watching, and it only drove the knife home when his eyes widened momentarily.

"It's—I never got to play with it like this before," Merlin muttered in embarrassment. "It feels right. And good, to just…let it free like this."

"It is beautiful," she said appreciatively, "what you can do."

His eyes darkened, and his gaze flickered to the rest of the guests. "It is frightening."

"Merlin," she said sternly, somehow knowing exactly what he was thinking. She saw the haunting ghosts of the dead in his eyes. "Whatever power you possess, whatever you had to do at Camlann… to kill her, to win… you did it for the greater good, and anyone who has met you knows that you are kind and good and that you'd never use your magic for anything other than just that: _good_.

"You might be Emrys, Merlin Emrys," she said. He didn't look surprised that she knew the name and its significance. After all, it wasn't hard to have learned the origin of the name during the feast with all the gossip that was flying around, and she did get to chat with Hunith, who was as lovely as she thought she'd be, and Iseldir, who had, along with the knights, taken the duty of squashing nasty rumors about Merlin to heart. "But the man you are—" she poked his chest above his heart. "That's Merlin, and _he's_ who controls the power of Emrys. You and he, he and you—though it's not even divided into 'he' and 'you' when both Merlin and Emrys are one in the same.

"And isn't that a large purpose of this whole gathering? It means more to Arthur and Gwen that everyone is getting to know you for who you are and that you are adjusting to everyone knowing about your magic. It means more than the laws themselves. Because we know that no amount of debate and disagreement will change the fact that magic is going to be free again. This—they're doing this for _you_, and by simply being yourself, all the rest… will fall in place."

If at all possible, his eyes, locked with hers, seemed to grow even bluer as he stared at her for a long moment.

Cocking his head, he said so softly she could hardly hear him, "You're different from the others."

"I'm sorry?"

A sunny, impish grin broke through the clouds of darkness hovering about him, and he leapt to his feet, taking her hand and energetically pulling her up with him.

"C'mon," he said.

"Where are we going?" Mithian asked, not resisting when he began to lead her.

"Dancing."

Digging her heels in immediately, Mithian rounded on him. "Oh, no. We are _not_."

When he just continued to grin expectantly, she shook her head. "No, Merlin. As a general rule, I _don't_ dance."

"You just came—alone," Merlin began in a tone of mock-disbelief, "and sat next to a powerful warlock who can call down a dragon to rain hell on everyone, talked him out of his moping, and you're afraid of—"

"I'm not _afraid_, and didn't I just tell you—?"

"You just told me that I should be having fun and not thinking about the past and worrying about what other people think of me when I have good friends who care for me—_all _of me—and when there's a hopeful and brilliant future awaiting me."

The blue eyes shone with mirth as she stared at him. "And besides, if you think about it, it's better that we keep the damage we might cause between ourselves… instead of inflicting it on innocent bystanders."

That made Mithian laugh, and after looking up at his lopsided grin, sharp cheekbones, and eager eyes, she felt her heart pitter-patter. "If anything _does _get damaged, I'm blaming you."

Smirking, Merlin took her hand again, and before long, they were laughing hysterically and stumbling over each other's feet as they attempted to find the tempo of the music.

It didn't escape her notice that Arthur and Gwen watched the princess and warlock openly and without shame.

Gwen looked like she was holding back tears of happiness and amusement, and her eyes glowed with gratitude to Mithian for dragging Merlin out of hiding.

Arthur, on the other hand, had quirked an eyebrow upon seeing them hand in hand, and had no qualm laughing and teasing Merlin relentlessly. All of those who had not yet retired for the evening—most of whom were Arthur's knights—also began to watch more than talk, and for every tease that Arthur and Gwaine had for Merlin, Ronan had one prepared for Mithian.

Despite her initial embarrassment, Mithian realized that she couldn't remember the last time she had had that much fun, and it wasn't until she lay in bed that she realized that nothing had ever felt more _right_ than apologizing incessantly when she trod on Merlin's toes… and hearing the knights', king's, and queen's laughter around her. But more than that: she couldn't get the sound of _his_ laughter—mixing and melding with her own—out of her head.

* * *

AN: Next chapter, I promise not only growing tension between Merlin and Mithian but also some banter/bromance between Merlin and Arthur, so stick around! ;D

Oz out.


	3. Sketches

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Thank you all for your support, everyone! Enjoy!

* * *

**Sketches**

On the morning it snowed for the first time that year, Mithian knew it before she even opened her eyes.

She could sense it in the light that filtered through her closed eyelids. She could feel it in the chill that she awoke to.

Launching herself out of bed half-awake and ignoring the cold that numbed her feet and that made gooseflesh run down her arms, the princess flung back the curtains, and before her lay Camelot, blanketed in a thick layer of glistening, pristine snow.

After flinging open the window and grinning madly when a gust of crisp wind nipped at her face and dusted her hair with floating snowflakes, her brown eyes eagerly scanned the wondrous, magical land before her.

It was absolutely beautiful.

Each of the citadel's towers, haloed in divine white, pierced the pearly gray skies, from which crystal flakes drifted lazily down. From her height, she could see the trees' boughs bending and trembling with the force of the upper winds. Below her, early-risers trudged through the snow, bundled from head to toe, and children—she could hear them squealing with delight, and she saw a few launching handfuls of the snow at their friends and ducking for cover as the victims retaliated.

Even if snow always signified that dangerous temperatures were on their way and even if she soon found herself resenting Nemeth's weather, that never stopped her from feeling any less giddy and excited whenever she awoke to see the first snowfall and heard the sounds of others enjoying it too.

Because in her opinion, there really was nothing quite as beautiful as snow.

Shutting the window, Mithian retreated back into her room, scrambled for warm clothing, and wasted no time in pulling on thick leggings, a fur cloak, and boots before running a comb through her hair. On her way out the door, she snatched a pair of gloves and the leather-bound book from where she had left it the night before.

It was so early that multiple servants gave her strange looks, and a few even tentatively called out to ask her if anything was amiss. Mithian didn't know if her extremely enthusiastic answers and mildly hysterical grinning put their concerns at rest at all, but their opinions concerning her bizarre behavior did not hinder the princess as she made her way through the palace and into a minor courtyard that connected to the royal gardens.

No one had step foot in the gardens yet, and after taking a moment to appreciate the untouched layer of snow and the beauty of the garden—even in the dead of winter, with its soaring archways, barren trees, frozen fountains and statues, it was a place to be appreciated—she joyously took that first step, marking the snow with her footprint and feeling that childish thrill as the snow was crushed under her foot.

There was no path to follow and no flowers to avoid trampling, so Mithian just slowly circumnavigated the trees, brushing her fingers along the trunks as she passed and identifying them as she went. When she found a frosted ivy-adorned bench in a small alcove of oak trees, she swiped away the snow with a gloved hand and took a seat.

A sense of peace and calm descended upon her for the first time since coming to Camelot. Even with the two days Arthur allotted to recuperate from the feast on their first night in the city, Mithian had felt as though she had been going nonstop the entire week.

If _she _was feeling tired from the constant activity and meetings, which had been wonderful, interesting, and almost fun if you forgot for a moment that you were participating in the very conversations that would change your world forevermore, she couldn't imagine how Arthur, Merlin, and Guinevere were feeling, as they had planned to dine with a different family or kingdom each night that a feast was not being held. In fact, every time she saw Merlin, he was with someone. Most often, Arthur was at his side, and Gaius and Hunith were never far. He always made an effort to interact with everyone, however, and she could see that that effort was making the shadows under his eyes become a little more pronounced every day…

For a heart-stopping moment, Mithian scrambled to remember if she was supposed to be somewhere (namely the council chambers or breakfasting with her brothers and father), but after recalling that Arthur specifically said the day before that there were no plans for the morning and after remembering that it was indeed too early to shake Ronan out of bed, Mithian sighed in relief only to freeze again and gasp.

The reason that Arthur told them to take the morning off…was because today was the day that Merlin officially became Court Sorcerer.

She felt a prick of guilt for having forgotten, but within seconds, it was brushed away with the thought that… the title would change nothing. Merlin was already Court Sorcerer and had been in all but name for _years_, and with or without the official promotion, he would continue to do as he did best.

Warmth blossomed in her chest, and she smiled, fingering at the pages of the book she brought with her and flipping to a specific page.

On the left hand page was a completed sketch of the chambers that held the famed Round Table, which Mithian found more stunning in person than she did in the romantic tales she had heard the past few years, but on the right hand page—Merlin's half-completed portrait.

Not many of her sketches had completed faces. Some had noses, lips, and laugh lines. Sometimes, the sharp angles of the cheeks and brow were there, but unless she was drawing a particular person looking down—doing some activity like reading, writing, working—so that nothing but his or her eyelids showed, there were never eyes. Ronan thought it was mildly creepy that her drawings were, for the most part, faceless, but she had laughed and showed him the pages of doodles of eyes—human eyes, dog eyes, horse eyes, bird eyes—which had always been the most difficult for her to draw.

"Animals, I can do fine. Men's eyes, on the other hand? They are the most challenging. I have to capture emotions, Ronan," she had insisted. "Perfectly. I haven't been able to yet."

Her brother had humored her, but he had neither understood her obsession with perfecting the eyes nor truly appreciated the difficulty that laid in replicating the feature that was described as being the window to the soul.

However, nothing she had ever attempted to draw before had proved to be more difficult than Merlin's eyes

Absentmindedly, Mithian pulled out a charcoal pencil from her pocket and began to shade the contours of the cloak about his shoulders and further define his neck, but soon, after lifting her head and staring into space as she tried to see the warlock in her mind's eye, she caught sight of her footprints standing out against the snow and the delightfully twisted, ancient tree that stood in the center of the scene. Inspired, she flipped to a new page and began to draw, removing her gloves so that her hands would remain unhindered.

The princess had no idea how long she remained there in the peaceful courtyard. She didn't notice the time passing and was so absorbed in her work that she hardly saw anything aside from the scene she was trying to capture and hardly felt her gloveless hands numbing.

When a crash of a door and two loud voices and laughs sounded near her, she was forcibly wrenched out of her little world. After panting breathlessly from the scare, Mithian, coming to the full realization of just how cold her fingers were, scanned the new drawing with glowing, satisfied eyes and tucked the charcoal into her sketchbook. It was just when she was searching for her gloves so that she could go back inside the castle and get some warm breakfast that she recognized the voices.

"…cheated with magic, Merlin," she heard Arthur scowling fondly.

Grinning widely, Mithian slipped on her fur gloves and leaned backwards to look around a tree, and she saw them heading towards her bench, cheerfully breathless, red-cheeked, and covered with melting snow from head-to-toe.

"Arthur, I'm offended. Truly," Merlin laughed. "Do you really think so poorly of me?"

"You've been waiting to get back at me ever since I first hit you with a goblet! Don't lie!" Arthur exclaimed.

A deviously innocent grin spread across the warlock's face. "I don't hold petty grudges, Arthur Pendragon."

Arthur snorted and muttered sarcastically, "Of _course_ you don't." He paused and shook his cloak, which shed its layer of snow.

"Are you admitting that I won?"

"In what world would I _ever _admit that?"

"This one. Because it's true."

It was almost frightening how quickly and how exactly Arthur's grin mirrored Merlin's, and before she knew it, Arthur was shoveling snow into his hand and launching it at the warlock, who dodged. The snowball missed him, but in his effort to avoid the projectile, he slipped and tumbled to the ground, and in response to Arthur's guffaws, Merlin smirked, and the tree limbs arching above the pair suddenly emptied their load of snow onto the king.

"Merlin!"

At his roar of outrage, Mithian began to giggle, although she did not want them to notice her watching them—there really was something special about seeing them, a King and a peasant, a Pendragon and a sorcerer, interacting and bantering and arguing like brothers and romping about in the snow as though they _weren't _the two most powerful men of their age. However, it was inevitable that trying to contain snickers only made her laugh harder.

She gave up trying to stifle her amusement, and when her peals of laughter erupted from her chest and resounded like bells through the snowy garden, they yelped, and their heads snapped to her.

It amused her all the more to see Merlin, whose adorable ears and cheeks were endearingly pink with the cold, sheepishly leaping to his feet and brushing the snow off of his backside while Arthur sent him a '_thank-you_-Merlin-for-making-me-look-a-complete-fool' glower.

"Wha—Mithian?" Merlin stammered as they walked to the bench to greet her. "What're you doing here?"

"That's not any right way to address a Princess, Merlin," Arthur reprimanded with a strange grin on his face.

Mithian laughed and waved a dismissive hand. "It wouldn't be Merlin if he addressed me properly, would it be?" she teased. "Besides, propriety doesn't suit him…especially not when he's always breaking the so-called 'code.'"

"That strict propriety nonsense is for boot-lickers and flatterers, after all," Merlin agreed with dancing eyes. "And remind me, again, Arthur, what you were complaining to me about earlier this morning?"

Arthur's face became stoic and emotionless. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he sniffed.

"I wouldn't want to play cards with him having seen how good he is at indifferent masks," Mithian joked with mock-seriousness, tilting her head to the side as she regarded the king, "but I do believe he's lying, Merlin."

"To right he is. He just doesn't want to directly admit that he's already annoyed to death by his new servant."

"_George_," Arthur retorted,_ "_is a more adept and skillful servant than you ever were, _Mer_lin."

"Ouch, Arthur. That truly stung," the warlock said, placing a hand on his chest. Grinning impishly, he patted Arthur's shoulder. "On the bright side, at least he's only temporary! Hopefully we can find you a less stuffy servant who has more of a brain and actually has the courage to stand up to you and tell you off when neither Gwen nor I are there to do it."

The look on Arthur's face was priceless, and Mithian laughed when he scoffed under his breath, "You're _always _there to do it. I can't get rid of you."

"That's my job!" Merlin said brightly.

"No, your _job_ is to advise me on magic and _use _it if need-be, and you're doing a shoddy job of it. I'm bloody freezing."

Merlin blinked at him. "Then go inside and warm up."

Arthur snorted. "We both know that Guinevere's going to be over her head if she finds us wet and cold."

Wincing, Merlin said, "Ah."

"Yes, 'ah.' She'll scold like no other if we get ill, and if she finds out that we got distracted—"

"So you _were _playing in the snow!" Mithian laughed loudly.

Merlin smirked when Arthur's face flushed. However, the King continued as though Mithian had said nothing. "—and then Gaius and Geoffrey won't be too pleased if they discovered that instead of looking for your _stick_—"

"Stick?" Mithian asked.

"He means staff," Merlin supplied, rolling his eyes. As per Arthur's request, Merlin's eyes flared gold, and a visible, transparent, shimmering bubble of heat and dryness surrounded the bench that they were conglomerated around. "Or at least the _wood _I'll be making into a staff. Apparently, it's tradition for every new Court Sorcerer to go with his or her sovereign out into the forests to find the right wood."

"That's the short version," Arthur groaned. "There's quite a bit of 'symbolism' and 'magical feelings' I had to learn about, and of course, I have to be there when he stumbles around in the woods and tries to _feel _for the special wood that he'll be imbuing with his magic during the ceremony."

"If it accepts _me, _that is."

"Wood doesn't have _feelings_, Merlin."

"It would seem that this wood does, my Lord," Mithian deadpanned. Her dancing brown eyes dulled the effect of the sarcasm, however, and curious, she asked, "What do you mean by 'accepts you,' Merlin?"

"The staff," Merlin said. "If it accepts my magic, it is supposed to symbolize that I'm worthy of my position, and if we want to do this thing right—"

"I think you're plenty worthy _without _the stick," Arthur grumbled.

"You just feel that way because nothing happened this morning," Merlin chided with a laugh.

"No, I truly mean it."

Merlin's eyes softened. "I appreciate that, but you know how important this is. _Especially _for me. Especially for _this _time."

"Why so?" Mithian asked just as Arthur, whose eyes softened with fondness and understanding, murmured, "I know."

Merlin exchanged a warm smile with the King and crossed his arms. "In years past, it was just a mindless tradition—a rite of passage of sorts—but in the old times, it was a sacred thing. Camelot and her people have accepted me – for the most part – but this… this is about the _land_ and the Old Religion itselfaccepting me as the right man for the job. Since Uther's Purge… it will not take kindly to just _anyone_."

He sounded _worried. _Merlin Emrys, the savior of Camelot and the doom of Morgana Pendragon, the one who singlehandedly proved to everyone that magic was not something to be feared, the one who destroyed the foundation of this age's usage of Dark magic… How could he be worried when the Druids had such faith in him? When they _all _had such faith in him?

Placing her hand on his arm, she said warmly, "I don't doubt that you will have your staff by the end of the night, Merlin."

She found herself lost in an ocean of eternal blue, eyes that glittered with light not only on the surface but also from deep within, and her chest constricted so that she found herself unable to breathe. Time slowed, and she could see every eyelash…

"None of us doubt," Arthur said with a proud glint in his eye.

His words caused the spell holding the pair to break, and they jerked apart. It went unnoticed by the King, and he continued, "Of course, we have to get the damn wood to _like _you first."

"I thought you said wood didn't have feelings," Mithian mocked wittily, causing Merlin to laugh.

"Whenever Merlin's involved, the impossible somehow becomes possible."

"It's a gift," Merlin said cheekily.

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur sighed, "We probably should be heading in, Merlin. Mithian, would you like to join us?"

"No, that's alright, thank you," Mithian said. "I want to enjoy the snow for a little longer."

Merlin's eyes flickered from Arthur to Mithian, and he said, "If that's alright by you both, I'll be along shortly, Arthur."

Arthur's sapphire eyes glinted, and he regarded his friend with a smirk playing about the edges of his lips. "In risk of taking the brunt of Gaius' wrath alone… I _suppose _that's fine. If Mithian doesn't mind your company, that is."

"Of course I don't mind," she said immediately.

Merlin's brow furrowed when Arthur's peculiar smirk became _more_ peculiar. "I'll have the kitchens prepare us something before we head out again then, Merlin."

Merlin nodded and smiled, and after Arthur, still smirking, said farewell to the princess and began to walk away, he said over his shoulder, "Half an hour, Merlin! Don't be late!"

"You know me, Arthur!" Merlin called back with a lopsided grin.

The princess and warlock watched the King trod away through the snow, and after sliding over on the bench to make room for him, Mithian asked, "Why does he need to be with you? When you go hunting for the wood for your staff?"

Merlin gratefully sat, and Mithian felt his leg press against her own. "There's a certain ritual I need to perform tonight to make the staff," he responded. "It wasn't necessarily mandatory for the kings in the past, but for me, Arthur _needs_ to be a part of it. Iseldir says it's because of the prophecies… and how the Old Religion views us as one. They need to see that he's just as genuine as I am. It's a big moment for the magical peoples."

Mithian studied his face for a moment and guessed, "It feels right, too, doesn't it?" His eyes flickered to hers, and she added knowingly, "And even if he'd be the last to show it, he feels it as well?"

It was a rhetorical question, and as expected, he did not respond. Instead, he scanned her face with intense, powerful eyes and said, "I don't think I ever thanked you properly."

"What for?"

"I only just realized..." he trailed off, running a hand through his silky hair. "It's _easy _to talk about my magic with you. You don't look at me as though I'm a meal or as though I'm unnatural when I use it. If anyone else other than the Knights, Gwen, or Gaius overheard that conversation Arthur and I just had—if anyone else was in the vicinity when I used that spell without warning, they would not… you make me feel human, Mithian."

When he averted his eyes, Mithian took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Seeing him struggling for words, seeing him still struggling to find his footing—it stung her heart that even after everything she had said to him that first night, even after Arthur so openly _requested _that he use magic, even after seeing the awkward nervousness beginning to leave his eyes the longer time went by…

It was still hard for him.

_Oh, Merlin_.

"I draw," Mithian blurted.

Merlin's brow scrunched in confusion at the abrupt statement, but before he could ask, she tapped the sketchbook on her lap with a smile and handed it to him, feeling shivers run through her when his fingers touched her own.

"I've been drawing ever since I was little," Mithian explained, "and because of that… I like to think that I've become more observant, more aware of the world around me because that is what I do. I _watch_ the world so that I can see as much as I can before I try to capture it in all its essence on a page.

"It's a bit of an odd combination," she laughed. "The very same wild-child who went hunting with her father every other weekend, who was said to have appalling table-manners and a witty tongue, and who taught herself how to shoot, is in fact a very quiet girl who would rather watch and listen than speak out like the rebellious soul everyone thought she was. Nobody saw that while I watched them and later tried to replicate their expressions and the way they held themselves, that while they were flattering my father, I was watching the sunlight streaking through the windows and how it banished and created shadows."

She watched as Merlin opened the book to the first page, on which an oak tree was drawn, and his face transformed into one of open awe and delight.

"I've learned to watch, and I—I have been watching _you_, Merlin," she admitted with a blush. "Even before we knew about your magic, I watched you with Arthur, with the knights, and I saw how much Arthur valued your opinion and your advice, how much _everyone_ values your company, and though I didn't understand it at the time, I knew that you were unhappy with my engagement to Arthur and I knew that you had your reasons for it.

"I've seen how you'd do anything for Arthur and how Arthur'd do anything for you in turn. I've seen what friendship means to you, and I've seen both sides—the protectiveness and the compassion, the fear and love. I've seen it in your eyes… your determination and kindness, your modesty and wit…

"When I first heard about your magic, Merlin, my opinions of you did not change. They _solidified_, and I saw more truth to what I had observed than I ever had before. And when I watch you do magic—" a gentle smile spread across her face when he finally reached his half-completed portrait and looked up at her "—the first night, when you honored the fallen with the dragon of flames and then when I caught you playing with light… You displayed your power and you proved how much magic is ingrained in you, but… despite that, there is no trace of anything more nor anything less than _you_.

"That was what I was trying to say to you that night, and as I said to you before, watching you do magic is beautiful. I can see how happy it makes you, and I don't understand how people can still fear and mistrust magic when it's _you_ performing it and how they can ask you those horridly personal questions when it's obvious that you're uncomfortable with them and when they're so obviously uncomfortable with you.

"Just know, Merlin," she said with a hint of humor in her tone, "that though we might not always understand what goes through that mind of yours and though we might not always understand how your magic works inside you, your family—" it was amazing to see how tender his eyes became with the implication of those words "—and I—we are here for you. Don't forget that."

He stared at her with glowing blue eyes, eyes that said so much more than words ever could, and as a strange tension built in the air, her blush brightened.

"Thank you for showing me this, Mithian," Merlin said hoarsely.

"There's no need to thank me," she said, her gaze drifting to the drawing in his hands. Unsure how to lighten the atmosphere, she sighed without thinking, "I'm not done with yours yet…and I don't expect to ever finish, unfortunately. Gwen's, Arthur's, my father's…"

"Perfectionist?" Merlin teased good-humoredly.

"You're not the first person to say so. In fact, after seeing the pages of eyes I've drawn, Ronan prefers to call me 'obsessive.'" She rolled her eyes, and pointing to Merlin's half-finished face, she admitted with a hint of resigned frustration, "For all that I may brag about my skills of observation, I've always had problems with eyes."

"Eyes are the windows to the soul," Merlin murmured with a mysterious smile.

Of course Merlin would immediately understand. "Yes," she said enthusiastically. "I have to admit, though, that it is a little disappointing when I can never bring myself to finish a likeness of someone. The drawing of Ronan reading—that's the only one I've ever fully completed."

"I think they're all beautiful," Merlin whispered. "Eyes or no. You're incredibly talented."

It wasn't often that Mithian ever shared her work with outsiders, and perhaps that was why the compliment seemed so much more than any of her brothers' or her father's. Perhaps that was why her heart swelled and swooped with pride and joy.

"The ones of nature," Merlin said, flipping back to the drawing she had just completed, "Those, too, I've never seen the likes of." Looking up to the particular tree she had used as the center of her piece, he asked, "Did you just finish this?"

Mithian nodded. "I can't help but take something to draw with everywhere I go. I've probably gotten more scolding from my maidservant about finding charcoal and ink in my pockets than any person alive." After he released a laugh, she explained, "I came out here to enjoy the first snowfall, and I'm always struck by inspiration when I'm outside."

"You enjoy the snow?"

"I love the snow," Mithian breathed. "It's cold and wet and miserable, but… there's something special about it, isn't there? I think the only thing I love more than snow is—"

"Trees?" Merlin finished for her.

"Can't tell that by the amount of them I've drawn, can you?" Mithian teased.

"Of course not," Merlin responded with a straight face, playing along. "It was a lucky guess."

Laughing, Mithian reached for her collection of art and said, "Here." She began to flip through it, and after finding a drawing of a tree's branches from the perspective of one sitting at its base and leaning his or her head back against the trunk to look skyward, she added, "They really are fascinating and gorgeous things, aren't they? Their cycle of life, their capability to change with the seasons and endure through almost anything… each of them has a unique characteristic, an essence, that baffles and intrigues me to no end."

Merlin regarded her with a curious light in his eyes before he asked, "Which is your favorite?"

Without hesitation, she answered, "Holly."

"Holly?"

Nodding excitedly and snapping the book shut, Mithian looked around the garden—for as it was the holiday season, boughs of holly were draped _everywhere _around the castle—and upon catching sight of not just a holly bough but a holly _tree_, she took his hand and pulled him up with her.

"Oak is supposed to be the mightiest tree of all," she began as he stumbled along behind her. "It's supposed to represent power, life, strength, loyalty, and honor, but the holly—it is said to be the oak's counterpart. Just as legend says that oak attracts lightning, holly repels it, and because of this, it is considered a symbol of protection by many peoples. But… most importantly…"

Reaching the tree, Mithian dropped Merlin's hand and brushed away the snow clinging to one of the lowest branches, revealing crimson berries and deep green leaves that seemed all the more bright against the pure white snow.

"Before my mother passed away," Mithian said softly, her fingers gently brushing across a cluster of berries, "whenever I was feeling depressed or hopeless, I remember that she would always take me into her arms—even when her sickness made her too weak to move—and point to the holly tree outside her window. She would tell me that while everything else around it sleeps for the winter, holly leaves are still bright with color and beauty, and it—it reminds me that even in the darkest of times and in the most hopeless of situations, life and hope can be found."

When she looked to him with glowing brown eyes, she found his eyes gleaming with appreciation and shared joy for the small, subtle beauty before him and a gentle smile playing at the edges of his lips.

"It's a very Druidic way of thinking," Merlin said. "Seeing the symbolism and magic in the earth itself."

"I've read a few Druidic texts on their findings about plants, but I regret that I couldn't have found more to read. Their teachings are wonderful, and their knowledge of herblore is unparalleled. I would love to learn more," she said wistfully.

Merlin's face split into an even broader grin that even reached to his stormy blue eyes. He took her hand again and exclaimed, "C'mon!"

"Last time you said that you took me on the dance floor," she reminded him, not resisting as he led her through the garden and back inside. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the different lighting.

"And you cannot deny you enjoyed yourself," Merlin teased, ignoring the quirked brows that passerby gave him when they saw him towing Nemeth's princess behind him. "But we'll leave dancing—well, in our case, it's less 'dancing' than it is the art of skillfully tripping—for another day. I have some books I think you'll enjoy."

Excitement built up in her chest, and she asked eagerly, "Do you?"

Merlin tossed her a look over his shoulder that nearly made her knees go weak, and he said, "It's incredible. You would expect that Uther would burn all these books, but when Arthur finally decided to _tell _us that his father never did burn them—the prat—he wasted no time in having Gaius, Geoffrey, and I look over them. When it was obvious that none of them were too dangerous, Arthur told me that they were mine to use and study as I saw fit."

For some reason, her throat thickened, and she gasped, "So…all of that knowledge that I feared was lost to the world forever… it—it still _exists_."

His sunny beam nearly made the happy tears in her eyes overflow, and he chattered, "I have to admit that the three of us nearly fainted dead away when we learned that Uther had preserved some of the greatest magicians' works, and of course, I'm only self-taught out of the one spell book that Gaius managed to smuggle under Uther's nose. Do you realize what that _means_? I've learned enough from it to strengthen my powers and learn how to make up spells on the spot, but having _more _formal spell books to learn from? Having a whole volume dedicated specifically to healing and another to protective shields? I couldn't believe it. Even Gaius and Geoffrey struggling to wrap their minds around it. Gaius was ecstatic to see some of the books on healing, and Geoffrey was over the wall about some of the epics and the history texts.

His enthusiasm was catching. "This is _incredible, _Merlin!"

His hand tightened around hers, and after energetically launching up a couple of steps, he came to a halt before a door that Mithian did not recognize.

"These aren't Gaius' chambers," the princess said, pulling off her gloves.

"No, they're mine," Merlin said, unlocking the door with magic and pushing it open. "Another gift from Arthur and Gwen. Apparently, they thought that one room wasn't enough for a physician and an actively practicing warlock who would—and I quote—'probably end up blowing himself up in his excitement to learn a new spell'…and especially not when they found all of _this _for me."

Merlin stepped aside and brandished his arm to invite her in, and Mithian's mouth dropped open.

Herbs hung in bundles from the ceiling, and vials and parchment covered the long worktable. Nearby another shorter table sported a large bowl-cauldron hybrid that Mithian was sure was used for potions or perhaps scrying, and to the left, Mithian spotted a spiraling staircase.

However, the most amazing thing about the chambers was not only that the place oozed with something that she could only assume was magic, but also that from floor to ceiling on every wall, was a bookshelf.

"Each of these books," Merlin said, "has something to do with magic, its people, or its creatures."

Before Mithian could so much as release a 'wow,' Merlin jumped the one step that separated his workspace from what looked to be a sort of sitting room, judging by the fireplace, dining table, and comfy chair, and he scanned the spines of the books.

"How did you organize these?" Mithian breathed in awe, placing her gloves and sketchbook down so that she could take one of his books and turn it over in her hands. Opening to a random page, she saw that it was written in a language unknown to her, and after marveling at the complicated letters and Merlin ability to _read _it, she placed it back down.

"Um…"

"That doesn't sound very promising," Mithian joked.

"I still haven't figured out how I organized them," he muttered sheepishly, arching his neck higher.

"How can that be if _you _were the one who organized them?"

"Exactly. I don't think there really _was _a specific organization in mind when I was too lazy to do it myself and used magic to sort them instead."

Her chest quaked with laughter, and unconsciously, she moved to the base of the single stair as he mounted a ladder to look on the higher shelves, and she found herself staring at how his lips mouthed the titles, how a cute furrow appeared between his eyebrows as he read, and how his shoulder muscles moved as his large hands roamed over the spines.

After a few moments, he finally whooped in triumph, plucked two thick books from the shelves, and clumsily descended.

"Took long enough," Merlin said with a goofy grin, "But I fou—"

Merlin, obviously unused to the leveled section of his chambers, completely missed the small stair, and from there and then on… time seemed to flow at an impossible speed.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, she wondered how he had managed to catch himself after such a hard stumble and was quite impressed that he managed to do so without the books slipping from his hands…

But then, somehow, inexplicably, they were centimeters apart, so close she could lean her forehead forward and find it touching his, so close that, were she not mesmerized by the cerulean of his eyes and had she the willpower to look down, her nose would have collided with the fabric of his neckerchief…

However, Mithian could not look away. She couldn't move or breathe or even think to care about the books, and all she could feel was her heart racing its way through her chest.

She wasn't sure if it was Merlin or herself who closed the distance. In the end, it didn't necessarily _matter_. All she knew was that… one moment she was swimming in the depths of his eyes and the next…

His lips were soft against hers, a brush, a touch, nothing more. Cautious, sweet, uncertain.

To banish any such insecurity from his mind, Mithian whispered his name against his mouth and stepped further into his arms, and after pressing more forcibly against him, she found her trembling fingers travelling up his chest to his shoulders and finally into his soft black hair, which was just as silky as she had always imagined.

The books he was holding fell to the floor.

When his hands found their way to her hips instead, her breath hitched, and as their lips melded and moved in unison and as heat built in her lower belly, a longing moan escaped her throat. In response to the sound, his tongue teased at her lower lip, and it softly eased its way into her willing mouth…

_Crash_.

Mithian and Merlin, blushing red to the roots, leapt apart and spun around to find Arthur, frozen and wide-eyed, with his palm still splayed across the door he just threw open.

Heat rose to the princess's face, and she could feel her face burning just as well as she could feel everywhere he touched tingling. Taking a brief look at Merlin, who looked absolutely mortified and strangely enough, _terrified_—he wasn't much help.

That's when it hit her. She kissed him. He kissed her…

And… she knew without a doubt that she _liked _it. There was no confusion, no regret, no shock. Leaning into his arms, feeling his breath on her cheek, kissing him—it had been as natural as breathing and as wonderful as she had hoped it would be.

And there it was. She had wanted him to kiss her for a long time. How long had she felt this way? Mithian couldn't necessarily place the time when she started falling hopelessly in love with him, but when the realization—the realization that she _had _fallen in love with him and hadn't realized until she felt his lips on hers—was so fresh, so new…

She would like to have said it made her laugh to think that she hadn't seen it sooner, but instead, her blush deepened, and she found it harder to unlock her muscles.

Merlin was the first to recover, clear his throat, and actually _move_. After picking up the books he, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened, ignored Arthur and turned to her with only the slightest amount of goofy sheepishness and—her eyebrows rose. Was that an _apology_ in his smile?

"Here you go, Mithian."

"Thank you, Merlin," she said in a surprisingly normal voice. "I'll tell you what I think of them when I've finished."

"You're welcome," he murmured. Looking over her shoulder, he said cheerfully and innocently to Arthur, "I don't suppose it's been a half-hour yet, has it?

Arthur's frozen mask of shock melted away, and as he looked back and forth between them—_oh, dear gods, he knew before we did_, Mithian realized in horror—his eyes twinkled, and he said slowly, "No."

"Were you looking for something?"

Arthur dropped his hand from the door and said, "I left something in here the other day when you and I were going over those laws after the first meeting." He waved his hand dismissively. "It's not that important. Your _stick, _on the other hand…"

"Can't wait, I know," Merlin sighed.

"Quite," Arthur said, his intense eyes scanning his friend's face.

Unable to bear the growing awkwardness, Mithian, hugging the books to her chest, said, "I expect my father and brothers are wondering where I am. I haven't breakfasted with them yet."

Merlin looked mildly panicked at the prospect at being left alone with Arthur, but after shooting her a pained glare, he hid it well and said in farewell, "Enjoy the rest of your morning, Mithian."

"And you," she responded, reclaiming her gloves and sketchbook from the table where she put them and making her way to the door. "I wish you luck with your quest for your staff-wood, Merlin, Arthur, and I look forward to seeing you both tonight."

As she walked back to her guest rooms, Mithian couldn't keep a smile from spreading across her face as she fully and completely embraced three words with all her being and all her heart...

_I love him_.

* * *

AN: There's your kiss, Ria! ;D Next chapter is purely Merlin's POV, so there be more bromance and some Hunith-Merlin bonding awaiting!


	4. Conversations That Must Be Had

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: So, before I introduce this chapter with a semi-unnecessary one-line AN, I actually have something important to say. It's more of a suggestion more than an important announcement, but all the same...

If you have seen the show's finale, if you're a bit of a glutton for punishment and want to read something that puts all of your feels after that finale into words in the most eloquent and beautiful way possible, if you want to be reminded of why that episode was so perfect and why it is that you fell in love with this show in the first place, read this: hypable (d0t) com 2012/12/26/a-merlin-retrospective-the-platonic-love-story-of-merlin-and-arthur/. The link is also on my profile page, but if you are too lazy to get rid of the spaces and stuff, go to Hypable, and it's one of the top stories. :') Beware, however - it will most definitely make you cry.

Alright, I'm done with that, so without further ado, as promised, here's a whole chapter with Merlin's POV! :D Enjoy!

* * *

**Conversations That Must Be Had**

He didn't know when it had started. He didn't know if it had started before her return to Camelot, when she had been a prisoner of Morgana and had come to him in her time of need, or if it had started afterwards, when he and she stumbled about during the feast in an effort to dance, her sparkling brown eyes alight with laughter, her green gown hugging her slim frame and highlighting all her curves, her dark hair rippling down her back…

It could have been then or any time in between that he had begun to feel this way for her, but it hadn't occurred to him just how much he loved her until he found himself tripping directly into her arms and looking down to see her staring back at him.

Merlin couldn't be sure she felt anything in turn until she was the one stepping into _his _arms, threading her fingers through his hair, and pressing her body against his.

And it had been glorious, wonderful, beautiful…to kiss her and to feel her respond to his touches and caresses, to let himself _feel _like there was someone_…_

He had never imagined he would find another woman he could love with the same intensity and passion that he did Freya. In fact, after her passing, he accepted the fact he was most likely doomed to be a bachelor.

Even though time began to heal the wounds on his heart, Merlin had never once even _wondered_ if he would ever fall in love again.

But he had. And he had fallen _hard_.

Of course, Arthur had to make reality crash into him just as forcefully.

She was a _princess_, and what more was he than a peasant lucky enough to gain a Pendragon's favor? How could someone like _him_ love her when she deserved so much more?

The warlock watched Mithian, her face still flushed, maneuver her way past Arthur and walk away, leaving him alone with the king, whose face was growing more and more indecipherable with every passing second. After the two friends regarded each other carefully, Merlin broke eye contact first and sighed, preparing for the small amount of hope he still held to be sucked from his heart.

He expected Arthur to be angry. He expected him to rage at him for being stupid enough to have kissed a woman of a higher status than him, and he was anticipating the harsh truths he'd have to endure. He was quite prepared for it.

However, he _never _expected Arthur to stride over to him, clap him on the shoulder, and exclaim happily, "It's about damn _time_, my friend!"

Blinking incredulously, Merlin looked up to see the king beaming smugly at him, and he asked, "Wh—what?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You didn't think we didn't see it, Merlin? Come on. I'm not that oblivious. I think I knew even before Guinevere did, which is certainly saying something, and I'll have you know that you and she have been the subject of _many _bets. Gwaine will be thrilled when he hears."

"You're—you—" Merlin stammered. Finally, he decided to comment on the one thing he _could _wrap his mind around, and he asked indignantly, "You _bet _on us?"

Nodding, the king smirked and shrugged. "Oh, don't give me that, Merlin. It was harmless fun! Besides, we all wondered how long it'd take for you two to admit you had feelings for each other. Now, when are you going to announce you're courting her?"

Spluttering uselessly and feeling himself go pale, Merlin could hardly believe what he was hearing, and his heart skipped a beat. "You—how did… you're not _angry_?"

Arthur scowled at him. "You know, I'm beginning to think you have no faith in my ability to apply my temper appropriately, _Mer_lin. The last time you asked that, you were waking up on the fields of Camlann and just coming to the realization that you had lost your disguise after losing consciousness."

When Merlin's twitched into a weak smile at the memory, Arthur, who finally seemed to realize that something was bothering his warlock, cocked his head and said softly, "And I ask you the same thing I did then. Why in the _world _would I be angry? I'm thrilled for you—for you both."

Shock was a hard emotion to control, and it was with great difficulty that Merlin forced it away. Biting his lip and swallowing hardly, he responded in a whisper, "I shouldn't have kissed her."

Arthur stared, and his nose wrinkled as his eyes narrowed at him. It looked for the entire world as though the king was either trying to sniff out a lie or smelling a pile of his own dirty socks.

No, it was definitely more a mixture of the two, and Merlin might have laughed and had some witty comment ready if he hadn't felt as though he was drowning in the realization that he would have to tell Mithian he couldn't let this go on.

"Merlin," Arthur began with forced patience, "I don't think I've ever met anyone so bizarre and confusing. As much as I don't _want _to admit I barged in on you two—well, I suppose it is payback for all the times _you _walked in on Guinevere and I without knocking—"

The teasing had the desired effect, and despite himself, a grin slipped its way onto Merlin's lips.

"—and as much as I want to get past the embarrassment of having done so," Arthur continued, "I can't deny what I saw. You and she looked plenty satisfied, so I must ask you whyever. The. _Hell. _Not?"

Gritting his teeth, Merlin replied with a crestfallen tone, "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Um, no, it really isn't," Arthur said. "Do you love her, Merlin?"

Merlin pursed his lips, and for a moment, he wondered how it was that it had come to this. Irony? Destiny? Both loved to mess with him, so he wouldn't put it past either of those two forces to do this to him.

All he knew was that if someone had told him a decade ago that Arthur Pendragon was to one day give him love-advice, he would have laughed himself silly.

"Do you love Mithian?" the king asked again.

Remembering that Arthur had never been anything less than honest about his feelings for Guinevere when their romance was first budding—_years_ ago, when he and the then-Prince had only known each other for a short time—and _knowing_ he could admit this to Arthur in a way he couldn't to anyone else, Merlin breathed, "Yes. I think I do."

Arthur started to grin, but when the Court Sorcerer sighed and averted his gaze, the king's sapphire eyes softened and then widened suddenly. "I recognize that look," he murmured, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "I remember it more than recognize it, I should say. I had almost forgotten."

Merlin snorted humorlessly. "It is not the same, Arthur. You are the _king_. You could marry whom you damn well pleased. Even as a prince—yes, you and Gwen definitely struggled because of your father's views on such things, but I knew without a doubt it was going to happen. I knew that once you were king, petty things like that wouldn't stop you from loving Gwen openly and truly with all your heart.

"But this time, _she's _not the one of lower class. _I _am. _Me_, the one who has already broken a thousand more social rules in one month than a man may ever in his entire _lifetime__,_and who probably won't be lucky enough to break this one. Arthur, how could she even consider me a suitable companion for her? She's a _princess,_ who deserves far more than I can give her. I might have fancier clothes, higher pay, and a few more friends in higher places than most, but it doesn't change the fact that I was born a peasant and not only a peasant but a bastard on top of that."

"_Merlin_," Arthur warned, wincing.

"You know how some feel about bastardy, Arthur," Merlin murmured, shrugging Arthur's hand off his shoulder and turning away. "And it is the truth. It means that her father would not accept me, not when there are far more suitable suitors out there for her to choose—"

Taking hold of the warlock's shoulders again and whirling him around, Arthur interrupted with blazing eyes, "Would you listen to yourself for a moment?"

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur said angrily, "I will not have you deprecating yourself like this! Not anymore. Don't you see that she chose _you?_"

"But—"

"No 'buts,' Merlin. She wouldn't have stepped into your arms like that if she hadn't chosen you. And another thing," he said, sticking his finger into Merlin's face, "I don't _ever _want to hear you use the peasant excuse because that is _no _excuse. You say you have fancier clothes—from the way Mithian looks at you, I don't think she would care if you wore a potato sack. You say you have higher pay—you _can_ supporther, you idiot. If you were still on a servant's salary, I might have been a little more concerned about this. You say you have friends in high places? Yes, any one of us—me, Guinevere, the knights—would grant you a favor in a single heartbeat should you ask it of us, but look at where _you_ are! _You're _one of those people in a high place. You're going to be my _Court Sorcerer_, the first in _decades_, for crying out loud! You can offer her more protection and security than any other man I know."

It hurt to hope, and to save himself from inevitable pain, he shoved it away and muttered, "That doesn't change the fact that I—"

"Shut _up_, Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed with exasperation before Merlin could finish his thought. "I'm trying to actually boost your confidence here, and instead of enjoying it and gaining something from it, you're _moping_."

"I'm _not_ moping," Merlin protested. After seeing the smirk on Arthur's face—of course he had said that just to rile him—the warlock said softly, "I just want what's best for her."

"I think what's best for her is for you to stop _moping_ and pluck up the courage to make something happen between you two!"

"What about her father, Arthur?" Merlin miserably demanded. "Fine, I'm better off than I was as a servant. Much better off. But I still would have to seek _his _permission, and even if I _can _support and protect his daughter, who would ever want _me _as a son-in-law?"

"Merlin," Arthur growled, "Gaius was right. For as intelligent as you can be, you can be _daft_. And I'd like to amend that statement by adding that for as observant as you are, you can be so _blind_."

"What is there to see?" Merlin asked stubbornly. "I'mbeing realistic and saving myself from the embarrassment of Rodor laughing in my face for even suggesting—"

The king interrupted with a snort. "Since when did you _care _about people's opinions of you, Merlin? And since when did you ever shy away from a challenge?"

"I don't think Mithian _or _Gwen would be too pleased to hear you calling a man's effort to court a woman a 'challenge,'" Merlin commented with a smirk. "It's like comparing them to one of your tourneys."

"You're infuriating, you know that, Merlin?" Arthur groaned. "You _know _what I meant. What I don't understand is why you're fighting this so hard. Don't you _want _this? Don't you want to love her and make her happy?"

Exhaling heavily, Merlin's shoulders dropped, and he mumbled, "I do."

"Then prove it."

When Merlin bit his lip and didn't respond, Arthur's tone grew considerably gentler. "I might not have had this mentality a few years ago," he began, "considering how much Gwen and I had to deal with, but what does it matter which class you were born in or how you were born at all when it's not your birth specifically that defines who you are and who you became? Sure, your birth and my birth were probably a _little_ different, seeing as I was born to be king and you were born with magic, _but_ that isn't the point.

"My point is look at what you've _done_. Look at how far you've _come_ and at how much you _changed _things. And not just how much you changed things but _how _you changed them at all. You're not just any peasant, Merlin, and after everything that you've done for me, for Camelot, for her fellow kingdoms and peoples, after showing us just how powerful you are and how you use your power for no other purpose than for the good of this land, everyone knows you have the most noble of hearts.

"The Druids look to you for hope, I look to you for guidance, and everyone else, while they might show it in ways that make you uncomfortable, sees your worth and your strength. Not a single person—not even those who remember the time you spilled wine on them when you were serving at a feast or those who gave you disapproving grimaces whenever you ran in late or whenever they caught us bickering like children. Not even those who still can't wrap their minds around the fact you have powerful magic at all—not a single one of them looks at you and sees a mere peasant. You're so much more than that," Arthur finished, "so you had bloody well banish those thoughts."

If Merlin hadn't been completely stunned by Arthur's words, he might have found it an impressive rant, but all he could do was blink as he processed what Arthur was trying to say.

Indeed, when Merlin did finally manage to see what it was Arthur was trying to tell him, the dam he had been building to restrain his hope burst, and with his growing gratitude for the man before him paving the way, it flooded out with a vengeance.

The newfound light in his eyes must have alerted Arthur to the fact that he had _finally_ broken through his thick skull, and the king smiled victoriously. "If you love her and if she was mad enough to fall in love with you in turn—"

"Oi!"

"—that is all that should matter. Rodor would be _mad _if he didn't accept you for his daughter. He likes you, for one, and for another, I hardly doubt he's the same type of father _mine _was."

"Uther was one of a kind," Merlin agreed with a hint of irony in his tone.

A small, melancholy smile flashed across the king's lips before it vanished and was replaced by a broad grin. "And besides," Arthur chuckled with lively crystal blue eyes, "when you could magic his head to blow up spontaneously, I don't see how he _could_ say no."

Merlin smacked Arthur's arm and laughed, "You know I'd never do such a thing."

"And what is it that you _are _you going to do, Merlin?" his king asked, blue eyes boring into Merlin's.

And that was the question, wasn't it? All mirth fled from Merlin's face as the remainder of his insecurities sting and prick at his heart, which felt as though it was suspended weightlessly in his chest, defying all of the ties that had once held it in place.

Excitement, fear, fondness, love…

Love above all.

The last time he felt this giddy and nauseous was when he regained consciousness on the fields of Camlann to find his head on Arthur's lap and his king staring unblinkingly at him with awed, wet eyes. Huffing a hysterical chuckle, he swayed subtly, but Arthur was there to steady him.

He was always there to steady him.

"You want to do what's best for her, and that is admirable, but have you ever thought of what is best for _you_? Merlin, all I've ever seen you do is put others before yourself," Arthur was saying. "You've always hidden your pain so that _others_ might not be hurt. You've sacrificed so much at the expense of your own personal happiness, and even though I appreciate that more than I can say, isn't it about time you—for once in your life—thought of _yourself_?"

"I _am _happy."

"And she'll make you happier. Don't you feel you deserve that? Don't you want to have her in your life?"

That made Merlin pause and think. He _did_ want it. Now that he knew what it was like to see her smile everyday, to hear her laugh everyday, to speak with her everyday, it pained him to imagine a day without her in his life, and it pained him even more so to imagine how it would feel to let her go. He sure as hell didn't want to push her away. How could he when he loved her?

He didn't want to miss this chance, and that realization was the last push Merlin needed.

As his resolve and confidence grew and as he began to realize that his friend had prevented him from making a _huge _mistake, Merlin finally said with glowing eyes, "How is it that you know exactly the thing to say that boosts my spirits and simultaneously makes me feel like an idiot?"

The king didn't say a word. He didn't need to. Instead, all he had to do to answer Merlin's rhetorical question was lean back against the worktable, cross his arms, and smirk in that irritatingly smug way of his. "I think now's a good time to tell you that even Ronan and Quinn joined in the betting pool," he mused slowly.

"_What?_" Merlin yelped.

"Yep, and just yesterday, Rodor asked me in passing if I knew anything about you and Mithian. He laughed when I told him that you were clueless and beamed when I assured him that it would only be a matter of time before you came asking to court her. I've never seen the man smile like that."

Rodor…even _he _knew? He had _asked_…?

Staring at the king with a mixture of horror and annoyance, he asked, "And why didn't you tell me this _before_? It would have prevented a lot of…" Merlin trailed off and threw his hands into the air. "God, Arthur, I didn't even _have _to worry, did I? Didn't it occur to you that this might have made your job easier? That it might have helped convince me?"

"Of course it did," Arthur said calmly, unfazed by his warlock's aggravation. "But I wanted you to see that you were worthy of her _yourself_ before I told you. I wanted to see you gain the courage to talk to her and her father without knowing that Rodor is nothing but accepting of your relationship with his daughter."

The blaze in Merlin's frigid eyes died as Arthur's calm tone and words washed over him, but almost immediately afterwards, dread gathered in his stomach like algae on the surface of a lake.

"Oh, gods, Arthur, I—I have to go. I let her walk away after kissing her. _I let her walk away_." His tone became more panicked, and both hands went to his head as snippets of conversation he had overheard over the past few years echoed in his mind. "Isn't that one of the things a man _is not _supposed to do? One of the biggest mistakes he can make? Maids' gossip, and Gwaine, and—I have to talk to her."

"Whoa there, Merlin." Arthur's arm flew out to catch Merlin before he could dash away. "Relax," he soothed.

"But Gwaine said—"

"Are you _seriously _going to listen to what _Gwaine _and some gossipy maidshave said about romance, Merlin?" the king scoffed with laughing eyes. "That worries me."

Seeing the utter logic in his statement, Merlin froze in his tracks and flushed.

"If you ignored and avoided Mithian for a few _days _after your first kiss, I might have agreed with Gwaine. You _never _avoid a woman, Merlin."

"Says the man who avoided his wife's scolding this morning by bullying his Court Sorcerer into using magic to save his hide."

"Shut up, Merlin. That's another thing entirely. You'll see."

Merlin bit his tongue and swallowed a witty retort. Instead, he sighed and asked helplessly, "So… I just _wait_?"

"Yes. If you recall, we _need_ to be off in search of your stick."

Damn that stick.

"I wonder if you're going to continue calling it that after it saves your arse one day. I don't think that 'Merlin's stick' will sound all that glorious in battle epics."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur retorted, "We're at _peace_, Merlin."

"For now. Morgana might be dead, but Mordred's still out there somewhere."

"Hundreds saw him fall."

"And no one found the body."

Arthur flinched, and it did not go unnoticed by the warlock that his hand hovered over his chest, where Mordred's sword had pierced through his chainmail…

"It's just like you to bring that up _now_. This is supposed to be a _happy _time. We just completed a war. Do we have to be thinking about the next one?"

Grimacing sheepishly, Merlin muttered, "You're right. I'm sorry."

"I know I'm right," Arthur said darkly. The atmosphere shifted ominously, but the dark feeling in the air was gone the moment Arthur gave him a friendly punch on the arm and pulled the conversation back to Mithian by adding, "And I also know I'm right when I say that a few hours to sort through your thoughts will do both you and Mithian good, and really, this _is _for the best. What _would_ you say to her if you ran to her _now?_"

Once the warlock realized what Arthur was implying, he discovered he had _no _idea what he would say to her, and after coming to the conclusion that Arthur had saved him quite a bit of embarrassment—which was really kind (and strange) of him, Merlin thought, especially considering he _never_ turned down the chance to have a good laugh at Merlin's expense—the younger man's eyes widened comically. "Thank you, Arthur."

"I'm returning the favor," the king said with a fond smile. "Sometimes I wonder where Guinevere and I would be without you."

Eyes flashing impishly, Merlin joked, "Are you sure it wasn't because of the bet?"

"Of course it wasn't, idiot," Arthur said with a deceptively innocent expression on his face. Smiling, he wrapped one arm about Merlin's shoulders, began to walk, and rubbed his knuckles into Merlin's head. "It's only natural that brothers look out after each other, after all."

~…~

In the years following the momentous occasion that Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon stood before the people of Albion and created a staff—and not just any staff, but the staff representing the balance and harmony between magical and non-magical peoples, the staff that would forever be woven into the fabric of the greatest legends and mimicked and referenced to time and time again—those lucky enough to have witnessed it would be unable to describe it in words.

Those who tried spoke of the golden and sapphire light. They spoke of seeing the molten eyes of their Court Sorcerer and the radiant smile on his face as his magic bathed the entire room. They spoke of the sound of their king's voice invoking an ancient bond, and they spoke of seeing the Pendragon and Emrys, who chanted musically in the tongue of the Old Religion, each cut the palm of the other and thereby sealing their bond through blood.

But above all, they spoke of the way the staff carved itself from a lump of wood above their heads and the _pulse _of power that dissipated into the room the moment Merlin's long fingers curled around its smooth shaft for the first time.

Those closest to the pair might have known a little more. They might have noticed how _Arthur's_ eyes flared gold at the one point Merlin's magic flooded him. They might have noticed that there had been a few seconds when neither Merlin nor Arthur could have been seen standing before them at all. They might have seen that, within the light, visions, images flashed, and they might have discovered that the Earth herself whispered in the king and warlock's ears.

However, most words would never do the moment justice. Only Merlin and Arthur knew what truly happened because they _felt _it, and not even they could describe it.

Because of the ethereality of the moment, it was a bit of a relief that all of the guests were too awed to even _think_ to make inquiries about what had just happened (even Annis didn't have a snarky joke prepared for him after the ceremony) because if truth be told, Merlin was probably just as—if not more—overwhelmed than they were.

In the end, he was satisfied knowing that they understood the significance of it. That was all that mattered.

"Merlin."

The warlock jerked back to the present and found his mother standing at his elbow. It was strange to see her in velvet, with her hair fashionably styled, but she looked so _happy_, and her eyes glowed with pride.

"Mother," he breathed with a sunny grin, turning to face her.

Hunith's arms wrapped around him, and after squeezing him tight, she pulled away and said, "I am so, so proud of you, my boy."

"I don't think I could have done any of it without you and Gaius there to support me," Merlin said. "I wouldn't be who I am today without you."

"Oh, Merlin…"

"Thank you, Mother," he whispered.

"Always. Through thick and thin," she promised with a tender smile.

From the very first moment he became old enough to understand that he was different and that his gift was also a curse, it was something his mother had promised time and time again, and whenever he would find himself losing control over his magic, whenever he would hear visitors and villagers speak of magic with nothing but contempt, whenever he did something that made him afraid of who he was and what he could do, these words were the lullaby that soothed his tormented thoughts and the inspiration that fueled his heart and got him back on his feet.

And, as he had every time since she had first said those words when he was but a toddler, he responded, "Through rain and shine."

Laughing, his mother ruffled his hair, and when he gave her a mock-scowl and ducked out of her hold, she grinned innocently at him and teased, "It's nice to see that some things never change."

Merlin chuckled and tried to flatten his tousled hair with little success. "Things might be changing for me, Mother, but I doubt _I've_ changed all that much."

"Ah, that is where you are wrong," Hunith said with dancing eyes. "You've grown in more ways than one, and your magic—Merlin, I couldn't believe my eyes tonight. I have seen you do beautiful and miraculous things, my dear, but what you and Arthur did together to create the staff..."

The warlock's eyes followed hers to the staff beside him, and he admitted, "After that, it is hard to believe I once struggled to learn simple enchantments, and it is even harder to believe that there was a time that Arthur _didn't _know of my magic, but—but I look at it and remember everything it took to get me to this point. Magical and otherwise."

Her eyes seemed to look into his very soul, and he saw reflected in them all of the pain, sacrifice, and fear that had been their constant companions, day in and day out, throughout the course of his entire life. "And that journey?"

"It was worth it. Every last second of it."

Wiping away a tear, Hunith smiled, and she teased, "I wasn't too sure you believed that when you and Arthur stormed in so late. You looked like you were about to strangle each other."

Merlin barked a laugh. "He was intolerable out there!"

"Funny, he said much of the same about you.

Narrowing his eyes, the warlock asked, "When was this?"

"Right about the same time he made some comment about how picky you are under his breath."

Rolling his eyes, her son grumbled, "Prat. Next time, remind me _not _to bring him staff-wood hunting. I _told _him that it wasn't _me _doing the picking."

Hunith laughed. "You know, I didn't get a chance to ask you what wood chose you. Where did you find it?"

"It's rowan. From the Valley of the Fallen Kings," Merlin answered.

"Well, it's no wonder Arthur seemed a little tense! You told me yourself that the place is a bad omen, and considering all the horrible luck you've had there—"

"The balance shifted," Merlin explained. "It is still a dangerous place where ancient, hostile magic lingers, but it was… subdued, less violent, than ever because of the peace the Old Ways made with the New, and though terrible things happened there, the Crystal Cave is at its heart, and it is a sacred place of the Old Re—"

As he spoke, his eyes fell on a figure moving toward him through the crowd, and he lost track of what he was saying when her beautiful eyes locked with his.

His knuckles turned white with the force he was using to grip his staff, and sudden nervousness made his heartbeat falter.

Because of _course_ Merlin hadn't prepared what he was going to say to Mithian. Of _course _Merlin had almost been late to his own ceremony and hadn't even had the chance to think about anything more than the staff…

His mother nudged him in the ribs and said, "_Merlin_."

"Hm?" he mumbled, broken out of his reverie, and he tore his gaze from Mithian to find his mother eyeing him with that insightful, mildly exasperated look that had always made him spill all of his secrets as a child.

Curiously, she retraced his gaze back to the approaching princess, and a soft smile spread across her lips. "She's a lovely person, Merlin. I'm glad that you have found someone like her."

Considering that Arthur, Guinevere, the knights, _and _Mithian's family saw his and her relationship beginning to head into romance, it did not surprise Merlin in the slightest that his mother knew as well, but that didn't stop the blush from rising to his cheeks.

His mother's eyes twinkled, and it looked as though she was biting her tongue to keep herself from teasing him. Instead, after flickering her gaze to the princess once again, she instead satisfied herself by flashing him a mischievous smile. Taking his hand, she whispered excitedly, "It might be cliché, but I want to remind you to be yourself, and don't be afraid to tell her how—" She cut off and made a noise of disapproval against the roof of her mouth. "Oh, _Merlin_, your hair's a _mess," _she chided lightly, reaching up to try to tame his black hair.

He avoided her hand and protested, "_Mother_."

She continued speaking as if he hadn't heard him, the joy and enthusiasm in her voice growing with every whispered word. "I don't suppose you want me here when you talk with her, so you'll have to tell me all about it later, Merlin," she insisted. "Good luck!"

Before the warlock could mutter a word, his mother kissed his brow and strolled in the direction of Guinevere, with whom she had become very close with during her banishment a few years ago.

His flush had not yet faded from his cheeks when he heard Mithian come up beside him and murmur in a soft voice, "Congratulations, Merlin."

Inconspicuously, his eyes fluttered closed, and he drew a deep breath before turning to find her appreciatively admiring the staff in his hand.

When she met his gaze, her brown eyes glinted with a playful light, and she teased, "I told you that you'd have it by the end of the night."

Despite Merlin's initial worries about lingering awkwardness on his part, the familiarity of her teasing and her warm, shining eyes made all unease flee, and he felt his stiff muscles relaxing and insecurities disappearing.

"It was hard to believe that I would," Merlin said with good-humored sarcasm and an impish grin. "Especially during those long hours out in the snow with Arthur groaning every few meters…"

"Oh, shush," Mithian laughed, smacking his arm. "I was more worried that you two had been mauled by bears when you didn't show up on time."

Raising his brows, Merlin snorted. "You know, it's rather pathetic to realize it would probably take me less time to deal with angry, rampaging bears—mutant, demonic, magical bears, even—than it did to find this."

He displayed the pale staff, and after running her eyes over it again, she guessed, "Rowan?"

When Merlin nodded, she smiled. "It is beautiful." She looked as though she wanted to say more, but a hesitant shyness suddenly came over her, and she pursed her lips.

"What?" Merlin asked, nudging her.

"What?"

"Oh, don't do that. I know you were going to ask me something, and you know you can ask me anything."

A light blush colored her cheeks, and she said sheepishly, "I know the staff is more than an instrument of magic and a symbol of your position. It's more than the Old Religion's blessing. It's an extension of yourself—of your magic—and I didn't know if—I was going to ask you if I may…"

When he realized what she was trying to ask, his blue eyes softened and then lit with ardent curiosity. "I appreciate the thought, Mithian, and even though I'd feel that way with most people, you're one of the few people I'd trust to hold it."

She looked stunned when he, eyes blazing with sincerity, offered it to her, and it took more than a few seconds for her to move forward and wrap her slender fingers around it the wood.

His magic reacted to it being in the hands of another, but it was not an unpleasant feeling, and in face, having her ask permission to hold it made him wonder…

Her fingers stopped exploring the twisted, gnarled head of the staff when she noticed his wide smile, and after she quirked a brow at him questioningly, he shook his head, gestured for the staff, asked, "Can you do something for me?"

Brow furrowed in confusion, she nodded and handed it back to him, and he immediately leaned it against a nearby pillar and took a step away. "Try to take it," he suggested enthusiastically.

"Merlin, what—?"

"Go ahead," he said cheerfully.

Shrugging her shoulders and smiling lightly, she reached for the staff, and Merlin watched carefully as her fingers slipped through the staff as though it was air.

"I can't," Mithian said with wonder coloring her tone. "Why is that?"

"The legends are true!" Merlin exclaimed with a laugh. "That's amazing!" Turning to a random servant passing by, he called brightly, "Cade!"

The boy, who could have been no older than twelve summers, froze and stared with wide, fearful eyes at being addressed by Merlin, but after a moment's wary hesitation, the boy swallowed nervously, squared his shoulders, and approached the warlock with a bow. "My Lord?" he asked in a high-pitched, wavering voice.

Merlin's smile immediately faded, and as discomfort and frustration flashed through him, he lowered himself to one knee to look the child in the eye, pointed to Arthur across the room, and said, "_That _is 'my Lord.' I'm just _Merlin_, Cade. The same Merlin who showed you around when you first became employed to Lord Ban and the same one who saved you from Cook's wrath when you tried to sneak away with some of her dumplings."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mithian smile, and the boy's eyes scanned his face with eerie intelligence before he grinned toothily and said, "And you still snuck me those dumplings even after the trouble I got you in."

"Yep, and you told me you owed me one, remember?"

When the boy nodded slowly and asked him what he it was he needed, Merlin pointed to his staff and said, "Can you try to pick that up for me?"

"That—that's it?" Cade asked skeptically.

"I just want to see if you can or not."

Of course he couldn't, much to Merlin's glee, and after thanking the confused and stunned boy, the eccentric warlock sent him on his way with a friendly smile.

Once he was gone, Mithian, her eyes dancing with amusement, began to snicker. "Nicking dumplings, Merlin?"

"Only from time to time, and I'm proud to say that I didn't use magic once to do so."

"Oh, yes, that is something to be _very _proud of," Mithian laughed.

"It felt like cheating if I used magic. It's a bit of a game among the castle servants, and I think nearly everyone has had their fun testing the cook's shrewd eye and has become addicted to the thrill of it. It's no easy thing, let me assure you, and it's highly dangerous," he deadpanned. "So yes, I am proud to say that there have been a few times that I snuck in and out without that ladle of hers cracking down on my head."

Mithian blinked at him in disbelief, and he mused, "And we all know that the cook secretly finds it a game herself, anyway."

The princess burst into peals of laughter. "You are," she said between gasps, "the strangest person I've ever met."

"…Thanks," he said, plopping onto a bench and propping his staff against his leg.

Wiping at her eyes, she took his hand and was quick to sit across from him. "I mean that in the kindest way possible, magic boy. It's your most endearing quality. I mean, who _else _would be so excited to discover ways in which people can or can't touch his staff? See!" she exclaimed when his eyes lit up again.

He chuckled and said, "Ah, about that… it was rude of me to take it from you like that earlier. I'm sorry."

Mithian waved her free hand dismissively. "No apology necessary." Eyeing the pale wood that rested beside him, she said interestedly, "It's a defense mechanism, isn't it? To prevent it from being stolen?"

Taking the staff into his hand and turning it over and over in his palm, Merlin nodded ecstatically and rambled, "And to keep it out of the wrong hands. In that regard, it is _relieving _to know that no one can touch it without my permission—although I suspect Arthur might be able to."

"You said that there were legends speaking of a staff's capability to do this?"

"The legends say that the Giant Wars were caused by the theft of the great Taliesin's staff, and he was said to have altered the very essence of the magic of staff-making to prevent such a horror from happening again. I don't why I hadn't thought of it earlier."

"Hm… What would happen if you should misplace it and someone finds it?" Mithian mused realistically. "Or… if you're lying injured and you need the staff only to realize it's where you cannot reach it?"

"Mithian, do you really believe I'd _misplace_…" He trailed off when she crossed her arms and quirked a brow, and he admitted sheepishly, "Good point. Well, the way I see it… if this part of the tale is true, there's no reason why the other part isn't true as well."

"The other part?"

"I can call it to me wherever and whenever I want, or so I've read," Merlin said energetically, looking at the staff in his hand like an eager puppy and allowing his magic to spark and mingle with the power contained within the carved wood.

"How does that work?"

Merlin was about to answer her when a flash of movement over Mithian's shoulder caught his attention.

It was Arthur, who was frowning and making the strange, crazy hand motions and silent orders that Merlin had learned to decipher over the years as his servant, and the magic he'd been playing with retreated almost immediately. Even after the king stopped his wild gesturing when Guinevere saw what it was he was doing, scolded him for being obnoxious and for eavesdropping (or so he hoped), and dragged him away, Arthur's glare still screamed '_get on with it, idiot!'_

"I'm not entirely sure how it works," Merlin finally answered, dragging his eyes from his friend. "But I can experiment with it later. I—I actually need to talk to you."

A delicate smirk twitched at her lips. "Would you care to shed light on what exactly it was we've been doing the past few minutes?"

Despite the fluttering of his heart, he found himself chuckling and said with a surprising amount of confidence, "No, it's more a question of what we _haven't _been doing the past few minutes, and that's talking about—" he lifted his hand, which was still holding hers, and shook it "—this."

"Ah," Mithian said. A soft smile spread across her beautiful face, and leaning forward so that her curtain of long dark hair spilled across her shoulders, she whispered, "I've been thinking about that."

Merlin adopted a similar volume and said in a deep, husky tone, "So have I."

"And Merlin… I'm really finding it difficult not to kiss you senseless right now."

An impish, devious grin spread across his face, and he said saucily, "What's stopping you?"

"You know," she mused, her smile matching his. "Absolutely nothing. But… I daresay that the public around us would disagree."

The warlock pretended to ponder the statement, and after reaching a hand to caress her face and stroke her cheekbone with his thumb, he asked, "What if I told you I can't bring myself to care?"

"If you told me that," Mithian said, leaning closer so that her sweet breath dusted his face, "I'd be inclined to agree with you."

"Would you now?"

"Mmmm," she murmured, her lips brushing at his jawbone. "I'd say damn it all."

His body reacted to her subtle touches, and his voice was even deeper and more hoarse when he asked, "And if I told that I intend to ask your father for permission to court you—if you accept me, that is—what would you say to that?"

The resulting kiss was even better than the first, and it wasn't until wolf-whistles started resounding in the chambers that Merlin and Mithian, their cheeks stained red, broke apart and found themselves the center of attention.

While Gwaine and Ronan called out crude suggestions that made several women who had been cooing over the new couple turn to look at them with open horror and disgust, everyone beamed at them, and Merlin's eyes passed over his mother, Arthur, Gaius, and Guinevere before they landed on Rodor.

When everyone else noticed that the king of Nemeth and Camelot's Court Sorcerer had made eye contact, the entire room went silent. Even those who hadn't happened to see or know that the princess and warlock had kissed in public (because the court was _always_ looking for new gossip, Merlin couldn't imagine there were many who hadn't heard the whispers that were sure to be spreading like wildfire) immediately became aware of the shift in the atmosphere and meandered to join the large group surrounding Merlin and Mithian.

And it was so that Merlin squeezed Mithian's hand, stood, and waited.

Rodor's dark eyes flickered between them, and he said slowly, "Quite a way to announce you wish to court my daughter, Merlin."

Merlin smiled nervously and joked, "I don't tend to do things traditionally, Sire."

Arthur snorted loudly, and even Rodor cracked a smile before he said seriously, "Do you love my daughter, Merlin?"

Without any hesitation, Merlin responded, "I do."

The king's eyes glistened, and he said, "Mith?"

"I know you know I do, Father," she answered teasingly, leaning against Merlin's arm.

The king's smile was as bright as the sun. "Then you have my blessing. Hunith?"

Merlin's mother jolted in surprise at being addressed, and after realizing that Rodor was giving her a chance to have a say, she said in a strong voice thick with jubilant tears, "I wish you every happiness. Both of you."

Applause and whooping erupted around them, and he and Mithian laughed as their friends dragged them into their circle to celebrate.

Merlin would forever remember it as one of the best nights of his life.

* * *

AN: Yup. Arthur is a total Merthian shipper, just as Merlin is a total Arwen shipper. :D I was far more amused about that than I probably should have been, lol. Final chapter will be up tomorrow!

Oh, and I nearly forgot to mention! Mithian's nickname for Merlin ('magic boy') was totally and completely inspired by Gwen Stacy calling Peter Parker 'bug boy' in The Amazing Spiderman (which I do not own). Just a little tidbit of information for you there that might or might not interest you. ;P

Oz out


	5. Beautiful

Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: Alrighty, guys! Here is the last chapter! :) Quite honestly, I wasn't as happy with this as I was with the other chapters (things move immensely fast, and the ending is rather rushed, in my opinion), and it's kind of ironic in a way. The first 4 chapters of this fic were the build-up to the main event that the prompt asked for. :) I decided not to share the prompt I chose for this exchange at the beginning of chapter 1 because I didn't want to spoil anything, but I will share it at the end.

Warning - this chapter contains more suggestive content than I usually write in my fics. A few of you will probably roll your eyes and think, 'she thinks _that_ is all that suggestive?' but better safe than sorry, lol. ;P

Enjoy:

* * *

**Beautiful **

Mithian had heard the phrase used over and over again throughout the course of her lifetime. Hell, she had even used it herself on _quite _a few occasions, and it could be considered one of those phrases that people used so casually and so often that it sometimes lost its meaningfulness and hardly made a lasting impression on others.

Even the princess never appreciated the phrase nearly as much as she should have. Maybe that was why her head spun to think about how much had happened in such a short amount of time.

Because time—time truly _flew_.

The last few weeks of discussions about the legalization of magic slippedby so quickly that the princess was slightly overwhelmed the day that Iseldir, Alator, and multiple others signed the last document, shook hands with the Pendragon and his newly appointed Court Sorcerer, and departed for their respective homelands with hopeful smiles and good tidings, eager to get back to their families before the approaching Yule.

Mithian felt as though it was only yesterday that she was riding into Camelot's walls, but it wasn't that fact alone that overwhelmed her. The realization that—that magic was free, utterly and truly free, filled her with an unexplainable joy, and to see Merlin's own joy and glowing smile whenever he used magic openly made her heart swell all the more.

In fact, in the past weeks, Mithian could not recall ever feeling happier. Despite the busy hours spent in Arthur's council chambers, Mithian still found time in the day to slip away with Merlin. It didn't matter where they went or what they did. Walking, reading, snogging, or simply _talking_... every moment she spent with him was precious. With every lopsided smile and witty retort, with every laugh and gleam of his enchanting blue eyes, with every odd quirk she discovered and thrilling story he told, her love for him grew, and judging by the special tenderness in his eyes when he looked at her and the growing passion of his kisses, she knew that it was no different for him.

It wasn't only her relationship with Merlin that grew. Whenever Arthur hauled Merlin away to ask for his assistance and advice on something or another and whenever Ronan was out training with the other knights and young nobles, the princess found herself meeting with Guinevere, and she and the queen had nothing but fun as they strolled through the Lower Town, looking through the wares and mingling with the people. On the rare days they decided not to seek some fresh air and some time away from the craziness of the castle, they sat across from each other in Gwen's chambers to talk, share opinions in important matters, and swap stories about themselves and their ridiculously selfless and entertaining lovers.

Some of the stories Gwen shared about Merlin and Arthur when they were only manservant and prince had Mithian laughing until tears ran down her face, whereas others had her jaw dropping in astonishment. When she confronted Merlin about some of these stories, it was more than amusing to see his reaction of sheepishness and to see the look he exchanged with Arthur.

Because Mithian and Guinevere knew that, despite their constant bickering and their differences, those two were as thick as thieves, two sides of the same coin; and the two women, more than anyone, understood exactly what that meant.

To be a part of their lives, they _had_ to understand that there was little that one would not sacrifice for the other, and though the princess marveled at her luck to have been accepted into their family and to have someone like Merlin looking at her so lovingly, Mithian sometimes shuddered to think what would have happened if either of the two young men had fallen in love with women far more vain, intolerant, and uncompromising than Gwen and she.

It made her smile to remember that Merlin himself had casually admitted the other day how lucky he was that she understood his sense of humor and had a wicked one to match.

However, it made her smile falter to remember what had happened directly afterwards.

Merlin and Arthur had been summoned from Camelot to investigate some suspicious activity in one of the outlying villages that needed immediate attention; the reports had suggested a beast of considerable size and ferocity that had a craving for human flesh, and Mithian, knowing well of Merlin's lack of self-preservation, had gotten her first taste of what it truly meant to be the lover of the Court Sorcerer.

"Is it always like this?" she had asked Gwen, worry numbing her mind and gnawing at her stomach as she watched the knights gallop from the courtyard.

Gwen had smiled sadly. "Even though I know that they never stray far from the other's side... despite Arthur's skill with a sword and Merlin's magic, they aren't immortal, and I can't help but think that their luck will one day—no, I don't think it will ever be any different when they ride out."

They had returned safe and sound, much to the two women's relief, and it was only after Mithian saw them dismount without the burden of wounds that she began to smile at Gwaine's energetic storytelling and reenactment. He had told them about how Arthur and Merlin _moved _together, anticipated the other's attacks against the creature, and were always aware of the other's position during the fight and how it had absolutely proved his theory that Arthur and Merlin could, on some level, read each other's _minds_…

"Stop twitching," Gwen suddenly scolded with a laugh, drawing Mithian from her memories and daydreams.

The queen's light fingers twisted her hair skillfully, and for perhaps the third time since Gwen ordered the princess to _sit_, Mithian said, "You really didn't have to do this, Gwen."

The past two times she said that, the queen had just snorted absentmindedly around a mouthful of pins and had continued braiding Mithian's hair. Judging by the fact that the queen could now speak without dropping pins, the princess assumed that Gwen was nearly done with her hair.

"Nonsense," Gwen scoffed in response. "Your maid is ill, and it's nearly time for the feast."

"I could have left it down," the princess protested.

"Styling hair was always my favorite thing to do when I was Morgana's maid," Gwen insisted simply with only the slightest hint of pain and wistfulness in her voice at the mention of the witch. "You have even more lovely hair than she did." Mithian wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that, but it was unnecessary to do so because Gwen continued, "Besides, Yuletide only comes once a year, and we can't pass up an opportunity to dazzle Merlin, can we?"

Smiling lightly, Mithian admitted, "He is rather adorable when he's rendered speechless, isn't he?"

The queen laughed. "It's not often we can render _Merlin _speechless—in fact, I believe one of Arthur's goals in life is to surpass him in one of their battles of wit so that he can have the satisfaction of accomplishing the impossible and stilling his tongue. But I do agree with you, and I know that after I'm done, you'll be able to do it without any effort at all. You look beautiful."

When Gwen reached for the comb on the vanity, Mithian moved her head slightly to smile gratefully in her direction at the compliment. "As do you," she said. "Arthur's jaw will fall to the floor when he sees you walk in."

Mithian could _hear_ the smile on the queen's lips when she sighed happily, "This is going to be the best Yule I've had in a long time."

"Has Annis decided to remain here?"

"Yes, she did, actually," Guinevere answered. "It was a pleasant surprise. Even though quite a few of them left, I didn't expect so many people to want to stay after the negotiations. Lord Godwyn's still here with Elena, King Olaf and Vivian, Lord Ector and his son Kay…"

"They get to continue living off your kindness," Mithian snorted. "But, no, it's more than that. The small families must want to be a part of the great festivity here. Mine jumped at the chance to spend Yule with a larger group of people – even before Merlin and I began courting and even before I knew that I'd be remaining here anyway. And you cannot deny that Camelot during Yuletide is a sight to behold. I hear singing and laughter everywhere I go."

"And the lights…" Gwen said in agreement, her fingers lightly fluttering about Mithian's head. "The candlelight gathering in the courtyard every year is my favorite tradition in Camelot, but Merlin really has outdone himself with this."

"He didn't hold back," Mithian agreed.

The warlock surprised everyone one morning when they discovered that every corridor in the castle had been strung with colorful beads of light that shifted and floated about the ceiling. The grand hall where they were to feast, however, was the most beautifully decorated of all and was adorned not only by glowing balls of color that winked in and out of existence, but also by holly, mistletoe, eternally-frozen icicles, and candles that burned with both blue-white and orange flames.

"He won't have to hold back ever again," Gwen said. "He's really changed these past few weeks. Before, he was still a little… withdrawn and wary about using his magic before others. Now, he's more _Merlin_ than he'd ever been before. More open and outgoing, less secretive…"

"Less secretive?" Mithian repeated. "I suspected he had been planning something before he decorated the castle, and when I woke to see the lights, I thought that that had been it, but I was mistaken. He's _still _sneaking off and locking himself in his tower and acting strangely and – and smiling that mysterious smile, Gwen."

"Did it ever occur to you that he might be planning a surprise for _you_?" Gwen suggested, nudging her friend gently in the shoulder.

Mithian almost whipped her head around, but she caught herself at the last second.

"You don't suppose…?" she breathed, her heart fluttering like butterfly wings.

"You never really know with Merlin, as _you _well know," Gwen said. "At the very least, he has a gift for you, but if you're honest with yourself, how long have you two felt something for each other?"

"It was during the time that Odin and Morgana had taken control of Nemeth," Mithian replied immediately. It had surprised her to learn that he too developed feelings for her during that time, but in retrospect, she thought it ridiculous that she found it all that surprising when it felt so _right_. "That was—was that eight months ago now?"

She suddenly felt weightless, like a bird soaring through the air, like a leaf being carried by the wind. A tingling sensation spread from her heart to her stomach and limbs, and she was sure that if she had been overcome with this feeling of bubbly, thrilling happiness while standing, she probably would have struggled to remain upright.

"Exactly. You've already arranged to remain in Camelot to stay with him, your father and Hunith are thrilled that you two are getting on, not a single one of us thinks you're not perfect for each other—and I wouldn't put it past him to ask for your hand sometime soon. But then again, this is _Merlin_ we are talking about."

After calming down and reminding herself that they only had been courting for less than a month, she joked, "Knowing him, he's more likely to ask for Ságol's hand first. It's never out of sight or out of reach, and that's _without _the sticking charm that backfired on him yesterday."

Merlin's staff had become the source of not one but _multiple_ running jokes. Of course, there was the fact that it never left his hand, and the fact that it truly _was _stuck to his hand for a good day and a half before he figured out what the proper counter-spell was only made the joke more comical. For another, there was the fact that he felt it necessary to nickname the thing at all, and Arthur's resulting argument with his warlock about the _stupidity_ of his choice of nickname was all too hilarious to have been witness to.

"I still cannot _believe_ he calls it 'stick,'" Gwen giggled. "Only Merlin."

Mithian's eyes danced with mirth, and the image of Arthur's face when he was told what _ságol_ meant flashed before through her mind's eye. "Since its true name is a sacred secret the pair of them will guard with their lives, I think there is no nickname more fitting than that."

Snickering and shaking her head, Gwen took a step back and said proudly, "Done."

After gracefully standing to her feet, Mithian turned to Gwen's looking glass and smiled gratefully. Her hair was parted to the side, and save for a single strand of dark hair, the rest of her hair had been twisted into braids and coiled into a gorgeous bun at the back of her head.

"Thank you, Gwen."

Looking pleased with her work, Gwen unconsciously brushed her hands against her red velvet gown and grinned as she said, "Anytime, Mithian."

A mischievous light glinted in Mithian's brown eyes, and after hooking her arm through Gwen's, she asked, "Are you ready to dazzle?"

"I think it's more a question of whether I'm ready to hear your brother and Gwaine's drunken singing."

"Wouldn't be a proper feast or holiday without some drunken singing, would it?"

Gwen laughed, and they walked to the hall to join their family and friends in the jolly winter celebrations.

~…~

This feast was far more informal than the last few that Mithian had been to. To the princess' utter delight, not a single person flinched whenever Merlin was kind enough to encourage any of the dwindling flames in the fireplaces to surge again or whenever he levitated a dish that someone had called for that had been across the table. The atmosphere was lighter; laughter came easier, and _everyone_ was comfortable, content, and unafraid to be as ridiculous and outgoing as they wanted.

And another thing that made this feast different than the others was that everyone participated in _one _conversation; during the welcoming feast and during Merlin's Court Sorcerer ceremony, the room had divided itself into groups, each with their own separate conversations. Because there was a more intimate sense of unity that hadn't been present during the larger feasts, Mithian felt more than hopeful for the New Year. She felt _ecstatic_.

To see them all gathered here, acting not as nobles or kings or sorcerers, but as _friends_—Mithian had never believed more in Arthur and Merlin's vision of uniting the lands and peoples. The prophecies of Emrys and the Once and Future King she had heard mentioned had never seemed more _real_. It was _happening _before her very eyes.

After everyone had had their fill of food, Arthur called for the music to begin, and when Percival led Elena, Gwaine led Vivian, and the king led his queen to the open space for dancing, she wasn't surprised to see Merlin holding his hand out to her.

His fingers, rough and callused, were warm, and he asked impishly, "Care to go artfully tripping, princess?"

"I'd go anywhere with you," Mithian said earnestly, watching his eyes brightened and shone like sunlight hitting a lake's surface. "Just remember to leave Ságol behind. You might need both hands to catch yourself if you fall."

Scowling at her with a good-natured gleam in his eyes, he propped the staff against his chair, and after removing his midnight blue cloak to reveal his simple but snuggly fitting red tunic, he led her out onto the floor.

He placed his hands on her hips, and as Mithian turned to face him and put her hands on his wiry shoulders, he struck her breathless. Her gaze appreciatively scanned his broad chest, before making their journey up…

Mithian had never wanted to tear that neckerchief off more than she did it that moment. On a normal day, she thought it was endearing, but it seemed to occur to her for the first time that the cumbersome fabric was _frustrating _and that she couldn't admire him appropriately with it in the way.

Catching herself and containing her more dirty thoughts, Mithian flushed lightly, and as her eyes flickered up to his, she couldn't help but enjoy the sight of his strong jawbone, full lips, and soaring cheekbones…

They fell into a rhythm that _somewhat_ matched the rest of the young couples dancing, and when Merlin twirled her successfully, the resulting triumphant, goofy grin and bark of laughter made her heart skip a beat.

"We're getting better at this, aren't we?"

Mithian, who was pleased with herself for not losing a beat during the twirl, laughed, "If by 'better' you mean that we aren't completely traumatizing those around us, then yes, I agree with you."

"Harsh judge," Merlin chuckled.

"You forget that this is a slow piece," Mithian smirked. "Wait for something more upbeat, and you won't be feeling so confident."

Coincidentally enough, the next piece _was _a quick, peppy tune, and as predicted, Merlin was soon grumbling about how irony was out to get him.

There was magic in the air tonight. It might have had something to do with the now-familiar, subtle warmth and spark of Merlin's own magic pervading the room. It might have had something to do with the spirit of Yule itself, filling everyone with the feeling of merriness and love.

But there was something more.

Every touch sent a lick of tingling fire through her veins; every word he spoke and smile that lit his fey features sent a joyful shiver down her spine. There was nothing different about him or how he acted, but there was _something _that made her react this way to him, made her want to touch him, made her want this night to never end and this feeling to never fade.

Mithian didn't necessarily understand, but it wasn't something she felt she _needed _to understand.

She didn't know how many dances passed before the night drew to a close. Everyone began to file out to find his or her bed, and once Mithian bid her goodnights to her family and friends, she found herself walking alongside Merlin through the castle corridors towards her chambers.

The princess knew better than to try to keep track of the progress of a conversation with Merlin, but she couldn't help but wonder how their conversation about music and how Merlin had once caught Arthur singing had somehow morphed into books.

She had finished the two that Merlin had given her, and after listening to her rattle off some of the interesting things she had learned and after discovering that she was actually _very _interested in the art of healing, he had brightly offered to fetch some more books for her. In a way, it was _perfect_ because she had been looking for the excuse to not only get back to her chambers for something that she intended to show him but to also get him to herself.

Judging from that glint in his blue eyes, she could imagine she wasn't the only one who wanted a minute alone. *

"You don't have to return those to me now," Merlin said to her.

"I fear you may never get them back if you continue giving me more to read," Mithian said, squeezing his hand and leaning into his side as they entered her chambers. "Besides, a walk through the castle at midnight with you isn't a bad part of the deal."

He waited patiently for her as she gathered the two books, and she was careful to slip her sketchbook into one without him noticing. When she announced that she was ready, she could have sworn she saw tense muscles relaxing and the strangely pained glint in his eyes softening into something more lighthearted and impish.

Once he saw her perplexed frown, he smiled widely and pulled her into a brief, but deep kiss that left her head spinning, and he led the way out of her chambers and up to his tower as he started to chatter about healing, about how Gaius and he would love to teach her some of the physician's craft sometime, and about how they might be able to make a visit to a Druid encampment if she wanted to learn more.

"…of course, I have to find the specific books that I'm looking for now," Merlin said gleefully as they entered his tower.

"I thought you said you had your system figured out!" Mithian accused with a laugh.

"Well, I _thought _I had it figured out too. I mean, there's the section on dragons, there's the section on Druidic history, and there's the offensive and defensive spell books." While speaking, he pointed out three bookcases in the room, and then he continued, "But then I discovered that I somehow categorized and organized them _within_ each section. It's different depending on which branch of magic it is."

"You sound absolutely delighted about it. I would have thought it annoying."

"I'm actually excited to figure it out," Merlin said, his blue eyes glowing with inquisitiveness and his large hand running over the spines of the pile he had on his workbench. However, a sudden thoughtful and profound depth altered the glow in his eyes, and he said quietly, "It's like—because I did this without thinking or concentrating on where_ exactly _I wanted them placed on the shelves, it'll be like exploring and seeing how my mind works without my actual consciousness in the way. I may learn more about myself than I ever thought possible."

Sometimes Merlin's odd bouts of wisdom and quirky intelligence still caught her off guard; stunned, she said in an awed tone, "I never thought of it that way. You're rather amazing, Merlin, you know that?"

The warlock smirked, and suddenly, she found him whirling her from his side and bringing her to a stop in front of him. Playfully, he locked her in his arms from behind and whispered in her ear, "I think _you're _amazing."

Her breath caught when he nipped at her ear, and with a smirk matching his, she swiveled in his arms and pressed her palms against his chest. "So much for the books," Mithian laughed as he turned her head up.

"So much for the books," he agreed, brushing his lips across her jaw before finding hers.

This was no sweet, lingering kiss. The moment their lips touched, they were moving, and they couldn't seem to get close enough to each other as the kiss deepened, pulling them further and further into a blind haze of passion. Merlin's hands slid lower and lower down her hips, and instead of feeling much embarrassment at the touch or at the breathy moans she was releasing, Mithian retaliated by slipping her hands under his shirt and letting her fingertips explore his stomach and chest. With every growl that was emitted from his throat, she only grew more and more desperate for his touch.

She felt a surge of wicked satisfaction and triumph when she managed to get that damn neckerchief off of him, but she couldn't quite remember when it was that Merlin pulled the pins from her hair or how exactly it was that his shirt ended up on the ground.

Not that she cared at _all_.

However, after her back found the wall and after Merlin accidentally knocked over a book and startled them, he chuckled breathlessly, rested his forehead against hers, and whispered throatily, "I love you."

"And I you."

Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he paled. "Mithian…"

"Shhh," she hushed, lowering her lips to his gorgeous collarbone.

"Mithian," he said a little more strongly, making her freeze. "If we—go any further, I'm not sure we'll be able to stop."

For the briefest second, nervousness coiled in her stomach like a snake ready to strike, and she almost drew away in shock in realization of what was happening and where they were headed. However, it was impossible to ignore the stronger part of her, the part that wanted to love him and feel him, the part that noticed how her blood sang through her veins and how her legs trembled with desire…

Mithian looked up into Merlin's open, clear blue eyes, which were locked onto her face and which vigilantly searched for any signs of reluctance. On the surface, the princess saw nothing but his own nervousness and concern, his understanding and patience, but just _under_ the surface, fire and passion raged like an untamed wolf.

He loved her. Truly and utterly. That he was waiting for _her_ decision—and that he was all too willing to _accept_ her decision—had never made it more clear to her.

It proved beyond doubt that he loved her in heart more than he did in body, and having heard of men that weren't quite so noble, she recognized just how lucky she was to have him looking out for her in this way.

She trusted him, and by the _gods_ did she love him.

Her fingers ran up his spine, and smirking wickedly as he shuddered, she trailed kisses across his collarbone and up his jaw before asking, "Now who said _anything_ about stopping?"

~…~

When Mithian blinked her eyes open the next morning, the first thing she saw was kaleidoscopic blue.

After he realized she had caught him watching her sleep, a sheepish, lopsided grin spread across his face, and running a hand through his adorable bed-head he said, "Hey."

"Hey," Mithian breathed, snuggling up closer to him so that she could share his body heat to ward off the chill in the air.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, not at all. I think my feet woke me up."

Merlin quirked a brow. "Your _feet_?"

In response, she touched the top of her bare foot against him, and when he yelped in surprise, she laughed, "Yes, my feet."

Since he was on his side, his head propped up on his elbow, it was easy for him to lean over and kiss her brow, and suddenly, there was a rise in temperature.

After lying back, he asked, "Better?"

"Mmm," she murmured contentedly, moving her head so that it rested on his chest. "You're beautiful, Merlin."

"I think that's supposed to be my line."

"You think you're beautiful?" When Merlin scowled, Mithian smirked and poked him in the stomach, "C'mon, you walked right into that one."

Chuckling, Merlin said, "I didn't mean to."

"I know," she said. "Thank you."

"What for?"

_For opening your heart to me. For making me feel... more than I have ever felt before. For saving me. For being here. For making me laugh. For being _you_. _

Despite the infinite amount of 'thank you's she could give to him, she felt that there was nothing that encompassed how she meant to thank him than the answer: "For making this the best Yule I've ever had."

Merlin's hand suddenly went sailing to his forehead. "I can't _believe _I forgot—I have something for you. I had meant to give it to you last night."

Excitement gripped the princess, and his words reminded her of her own gift for him.

When he made to fling off the doublet, Mithian stopped him and exclaimed, "Why move when you can summon it with the snap of your fingers, magic boy? I'm too comfortable to move."

"Glad to see that I make a nice pillow," Merlin grumbled teasingly, his eyes flashing gold. Something zipped through the air, and the warlock caught it easily.

Staring curiously at his clenched fist, she asked, "Can you do me a favor and summon those books I returned to you? I have something for you as well."

Much to her surprise, he didn't question her request, and she watched lazily as the books meandered their way to the bed and plopped gently onto her lap.

Mithian shifted so that she could easily slip out her sketchbook, and Merlin's eyes brightened upon seeing it. After flipping to a specific page, she handed it to him and waited for his reaction.

"You… you finished it," he breathed, his lips twitching into one of the sweetest smiles she had ever seen grace his face.

"It was after our first kiss," Mithian said. "I remember sitting down, and I just didn't _think _about it. It wasn't until Ronan knocked on my door calling me for dinner that I realized… your portrait's eyes were done. It was then that I realized…just how much I loved you and wanted to be with you."

Merlin gaped at her, and with a broadening grin, he said, "Thank you for sharing this with me, Mithian. It means a lot."

"I'm glad, Merlin. I thought you would like to see it, but truth be told, I'm keeping that for myself. It's one of the best sketches I've ever done, and seeing as it'd be more than a little strange to give you a sketch of yourself, your gift—it's in the back. Tug it out."

The warlock did as he was told, and he stared at the painting with widening, shining eyes and a gaping mouth.

It was a night scene, but very little of it was dark. Standing slightly off-center was a twisted rowan tree, and as the limbs rose further into the sky, the leaves themselves slowly morphed into wisps, swirls, _ribbons_ of golden and sapphire light. Eventually, the top boughs looked exactly like the magic she had witnessed at Merlin's ceremony, and in the light of the magic that the tree was emitting, Ságol and Excalibur could be seen leaning side by side against the trunk.

"I'll have to thank Gwen again for the paints," Mithian mused when he continued to stare. "I wouldn't have been able to finish this without her help."

"It's—Mithian, this is indescribable," Merlin finally breathed. "I—gods, this is beautiful. I don't think I've ever received a more priceless and heartfelt gift, and it—it seriously… _Thank you_."

"I'm thrilled you like it."

Setting aside the painting on his bedside table, he said, "I can only hope my gift means as much to you as yours means to me."

He opened his palm, and there sat a ring.

And it wasn't any ring. It was a ring of miniature jade holly leaves and red berries, perfectly intact and perfectly preserved.

"To remind you that there is life everywhere and that hope can be found in even the darkest of times."

Tears flooded Mithian's eyes.

"Some interesting magic was used to make this," Merlin said, smiling. "I had to shrink down the leaves, fit them into a band, and somehow make them able to _endure_ and retain their exact color and shape, but after quite a few failed attempts, I did it."

"Ah, I see _this _is where the sticking charm came into play," Mithian choked jokingly.

"Indeed it is," Merlin said, laughing.

He sobered quickly and turned it over a few times in his long fingers before continuing, "I—I know it is a bit early—we've only been publicly courting for a month, and even though I know that the court won't accept a proposal now…"

At the word 'proposal,' the tears overflowed and fell down her cheeks.

"Arthur finds the whole idea mad," Merlin continued to ramble, gently brushing a teardrop away with his thumb. "But he thinks every other thing I do or say is mad, and it doesn't matter at all anyway because _I _don't think it's mad. But… Mithian, I love you, and I don't want to see a day without you in it."

Overwhelmed, Mithian stuttered, "Merlin, is this—are you…?"

"Yes, it is. I am."

A mixture of a squeal, a sob, and a laugh escaped Mithian's mouth, and she nodded fervently. "Then yes. _Yes_."

"I had hoped you'd say yes." His multifaceted blue eyes blazed with glee, and after slipping the ring onto her finger, he added, "But I was going to give it to you anyway—yes or no. There're some protection spells woven into it that—look!" he suddenly exclaimed in an excited whisper. "It's snowing."

Wiping away her happy tears, she followed his gaze, and as they watched the snow flurry and fall outside, Mithian wanted the moment to last forever. However, she knew that life was going to be calling. Arthur would be knocking—she'd have to tell Merlin to lock his door so that he didn't barge in again—Gwen would be wanting to hear about how her gift was received, her father and brothers would be waiting for her to join them for breakfast… and no doubt something exciting was going to be taking place in Camelot.

But _this_ moment was _theirs_—and theirs alone—and it was beautiful.

* * *

AN: Here was the prompt for this fic: "Mithian is invited to spend the holidays in Camelot. There are feasts, dancing and much merriment. The story is set after Merlin's magic reveal. He is the court warlock and Arthur's adviser. He and Mithian have had an open, lengthy courtship. One night after a feast, they spend the night together in his chambers. Sweet, loving naughtiness shall abound. On Christmas morning, they have a sweet little gift exchange. Then they watch the snow fall out side while cuddling in bed."

It's amusing to me how my wacky mind transforms that into _this_, lol. ;P

It's been interesting and fun, but seeing as I have learned that writing romance cannot even compare to writing bromance (in my eyes at least), I do not see myself writing a sequel to this. :) Hope you've enjoyed the ending!

Oz out.


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